














































■y2^ 





« 




« 

•l 


» . 






f 

r\ 


r 




\ 

I 

I 



« 




1 



» 





» 





\ 


r 


» 


r. 


* 







I 




* 






♦ 


• X 


t 






^ . 


1 . 





I 




I 




« 










4 






* 




• » 









T 



t 


4 




« 




» 


t 


>. > ' 
IS.'* . t , 



« 

* 










Teie Widow’s Cow. 

Page 214. 


I 











































































































































































Margaret Gordon, 


OR 


CAN I FORGIVE? 


BY 



Mrs. S. a. MYERS, 


AUTHOR OP 

“Poor Nicholas” “Gulf Stream,” “Railroad Bot,” “Margaret Ashton,” 

ETC., ETC. 

f- ' 


“ Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to 
pass, and shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as 
the noon-day.”— Psalm xxxvii. 5, 6. _ 

“ Call upon me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt 
glorify me.”— Ps.alm 1.15. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLIuAriv^iN, 

No. 821 CHESTNUT STREET. 







374 - 




Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1869, by 

THE TRUSTEES OF THE 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 

In the Clerk’s OflBce of the District Court of the United States for the 
Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 






Westcott * Thomson, 
Stereotypers, Philada. 




) . > 

) 



COJ^TENTS 


CHAPTER r. 

PAGE 

The Blotted Copy-Book and Home Teaching. 7 

CHAPTER II. 

Margaret’s Home and Family. 30 

CHAPTER III. 

God Cares for the Sparrows, and Provides for All. 49 

CHAPTER IV. 

A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed. 57 

CHAPTER V. 

A New Life and New Friends. 69 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Realities and the Discipline of Duty. 78 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Young Gardener, and Life in Earnest. 100 

3 










4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

PAGE 

Difficult Duties and Dark Clouds. 106 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Onward Path and Sad Changes. 140 

CHAPTER X. 

Death in the Cottage. 186 

CHAPTER XI. 

Squire Green and Brown Lizzie. 196 

CHAPTER XIL 

Light and Shadow. 218 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Margaret Leaves Home—All is not Gold that Glitters. 238 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Lessons of Patience—Peace and Power Obtained through 

Prayer. 262 

CHAPTER XV. 

Better than Diamonds. 299 

CHAPTER XVI. 


Mystery and Suspicion—Lesson of the Fire-fly. 


309 










CONTENTS. 


5 


CHAPTER XVII. 

PAGE 

Lesson op the Fiue-fly. The Party and the Make- 
Believes.”. 320 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Home Again, and an Unpleasant Surprise. 358 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Rough Path and a New Trial. 389 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Lost Flowers Found, and a Strange Discovery. 400 

CHAPTER XXI. 

^‘What is my Duty? Can I Forgive?”. 437 

CHAPTER XXII. 


Conclusion, 


472 












ft 




•/ 


. V'"'^ 


■•,/(Mjii:.>un-i v;i/. ;.)^r! \l 


*1. .< 


‘t- ‘res 




r A ; » ' I ’ ' ^ 

r /‘rr^ 


n 


. •■ S ' 


•• I« 


HU? ? 

^T.4- 

Acrhfi/, '/iviii' 

' v.,' I; !► 

T'.jr: 

•f •*. 

'til- 

7:Hl;j|''V*^ J\« 7f’' 

.1 

’■M!l f 

U- ,1-.!.': .|i, 


iU.k friij 

•'’. ,01^ i.' Kr 


jhil\ ♦ iii'.iL> 0*1 '!■/..ft * ^ 

Cn*-' - ' ‘ •»il ’ .*!•►’!♦ . ^^'i.> /:»r • 

--; •' 'tT <i M 


I I 

♦ .'P !►*'..■ i: >r •( .. 


- .. 



‘ • ->'^-iia* .;,i li VI 

•-•I 'W. ij, '-71 

^■-* “•' * ,j<.i*>'.' hi - i,,L''*i .i rffr•^jijn.V 

^ ' ■ ' ■ i '>> ‘■■ r -.'' - ... 

•'^ O > ** j' .^i,' I 


V 

^.* ' 

♦ ,- 

• • 



V.^i- 


4iyi4. 


/ r 
,# ^ * • 

i 


wi 


Margaret Gordon. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BLOTTED COPY-BOOK AND HOME TEACHING. 

ETTER suffer wrong than do wrong, Mar- 
Jlfj garet,^^ said James Gordon, addressing his 
riJ daughter, a young girl of perhaps thirteen 
years old, who, seated on a low stool, was weeping 
bitterly. I have no doubt that although you are 
now suffering severely from the effects of Kitty 
Greenes malicious act, your feelings are less painful 
than hers, although she has achieved what she be¬ 
lieves to be a triumph. You have indeed met 
with a great disappointment, but you must learn 
to I’egard it as a dispensation of Providence, in¬ 
tended as an exercise of faith and patience, and to 
be borne with meekness and submission. You, no 
doubt, like many others of your age, have looked 
forward to life as a time of unmixed happiness; 
but now that you have passed the period of child- 

7 



8 


MARGARET GORDON, 


hood, the experience of every day will teach you 
that nobody can ever go smoothly through this 
life. None can escape the crosses arid cares which 
are the lot of all; disappointments, like the 
present to yourself—unforeseen and seemingly un¬ 
deserved—lie in wait even for the highly favoured; 
arising at first like little clouds, but increasing as 
we advance in the course of the discipline of life, 
they are intended by our kind heavenly Father 
to fit us for the battle that ends in conquest and 
the reward of an unfading crown.” 

“ But, father, I did love Kitty Green, and I can¬ 
not yet hardly believe that she purposely threw the 
inkstand over my copy-book, although Mary Bur¬ 
ton and Lizzie Brooks say they saw her do it; and 
they say, too, that you ought to turn her out of the 
school.” 

Would that help the matter in any way, Mar¬ 
garet?” inquired her father. “It cannot undo 
what has been done, and would only make an 
enemy of Squire Green, who is the most influen¬ 
tial trustee of the school. But how do you know 
that these girls are telling the truth ? Would they 
be willing to come forward and openly repeat to 
the trustees what they said to you ?” 

“ No, father, I do not think they would; they 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


9 


begged me not to tell, for their fathers are tenants 
of Squire Green, and he is such a hard man. 
They both told me that Kitty Green had said she 
would be sure of the prize if it was not for me— 
that she had seen my copy-book and knew that I 
had the best chance. Oh, father, it is so hard, for 
my heart has been *set upon getting the prize, and I 
have worked so hard and she broke out into a 
renewed fit of sobbing. 

Perhaps you set your heart too much upon it, 
and showed your copy-book in a spirit of vain¬ 
glory, and thus excited a bad spirit—namely, that 
of envy; and if so, you are punished.^^ 

“ 1^11 never speak to her again,^^ sobbed Mar¬ 
garet; “I helped her with her sums and other 
lessons all through the quarter, but I’ll never have 
anything more to do with her. I cannot ever 
forgive her.” 

“You cannot forgive her, Margaret?” said her 
father. “Have you then read your Bible to so 
little purpose that you have forgotten that there is 
a passage which says, can do all things through 
Christ, which streiigtheneth me?’ Or will you 
choose to b.e governed by what the world says, 
rather than by what God and our. duty demand of 
■iis? Or does the command that we should love 


10 


MARGARET GORDON, 


and forgive our enemies appear too hard to be 
obeyed, when we remember that ^ while we were 
yet enemies, Christ died for us?’ This is your 
first sore experience of life’s discipline, and only 
the beginning of the lessons all must learn. Life, 
Margaret, is something more than eating and 
sleeping, and is given for most important pur¬ 
poses; each moment is filled with responsibility, 
and burdened with results which shall determine 
whether we belong to the family of God or have 
chosen the world for our portion. We are told 
that ^ man is born to trouble even as the sparks fly 
upward;’ still, life is a privilege few are willing to 
relinquish, even amid the harshest discipline. 
Griefs and trials are the lot of all, and every 
trouble, whether met with early or late in life, is a 
dispensation for good, and is intended to raise us a 
step nearer heaven. All, however, do not take 
advantage of these steps alike; some recognize the 
trials as coming immediately from the hand of 
God, but others take but little note of them; and 
so it is that some make more progress in the 
Christian faith than others, who, while they admit 
trials to be the inheritance of man, do not recog¬ 
nize their true meaning. Is it not, therefore, better 
when called to receive such a trial as this, to seek 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


11 


out its true meaning and turn it to our spiritual 
profit, than to indulge in a spirit of anger and say, 
‘ I can never forgive V ” 

‘^Father, Kitty knew why I was so anxious 
about a prize, for I had told her more than once, 
when she said how foolish it was in me to study 
so close in school when I had to work so hard at 
home. I could not at first believe she would do 
such a mean thing, and I will never trust her 
again.’^ 

If she really threw the ink over your writing 
on purpose to spoil it, I admit it will be a hard 
task for you to trust her as formerly,’^ said her 
father. But there is one thing you can do, which 
is to forgive her for the wrong she has done you. 
There is a great deal of wrong to be met with 
every day in the world, which no one can set right; 
but there is also one thing which every one can do 
if they set about it in a proper way, which is prayer¬ 
fully. That is, to endeavour to possess the spirit 
of Christ, and with all lowliness, meekness and 
long-suffering strive to follow the example of him 
who endured the contradiction of sinners against 
himself, returned good for evil, endured persecu¬ 
tion in silence, and forgave his enemies even when 
suffering on the cross. You may think that I 


12 


MARGARET GORDON, 


IjavCi not spoken as kindly as you might wish, and 
that my words have savoured more of reproof than 
sympathy; but I have only spoken the truth, and 
should have done wrong to have soothed you into 
a belief that the injury done you was too great to 
be forgiven. The truth, Margaret, never does us 
harm; and when we want to forgive those who 
have injured us, the best way is not to try to per¬ 
suade ourselves that wrong is not wrong, but, look¬ 
ing at the offence fairly, kneel before God and pray 
to him to give us a true understanding, and enable 
us to forgive, because we ourselves are sinners.’^ 
Father, if it had been any one but Kitty, I 
could have borne it better. The girls say I will 
be mean if I ever have anything more to do wifh 
her. No—I never can forgive her or treat her as 
I have done, or help her as I was always ready to 
do f and her tears, which she had partially dried, 
began to flow anew. 

“ I am sorry to see you so troubled, Margaret,’’ 
said her father in a tone of kindness, but I am 
more grieved to find you possessed of such an un¬ 
forgiving spirit—a spirit which you must try to 
conquer, for it is not in accordance with the rules 
laid down by our Saviour. It is true that your 
provocation is very great, but is not our heavenly 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


13 


Father provoked with us every day, and yet he 
pities and forgives, and bears with us, and kindly 
extends his loving-kindness even to the unthankful 
and the evil ? Have you forgotten the petition of 
your daily prayer, or do you, in the presence of 
God, utter as words without meaning, ^ Forgive us 
our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass 
* against usf And if you love the Saviour who 
gave you that prayer, and left such an example of 
meekness and gentleness, what is there that you 
cannot do for the sake of Him who has done so 
much for you 

I will try to do as you say, father,’^ said Mar¬ 
garet, drying her tears; but it will be a hard 
task, and, thinking of Kitty as I do, I do not 
know how to set about it.’’ 

“ If you are sincere in your wish to do right, 
God will show you the right way. But while you 
are so bitterly charging Kitty Green with unfair 
dealing, do not forget that great watchfulness is 
necessary in regard to yourself. She has never 
been told how sinful such acts are, and therefore 
sinned partly in ignorance. You have been taught 
differently, and, denying self, you must go forth 
resolutely in the discharge of duty. And although 
your task may seem hard at first, it will gradually 


14 


MARGARET GORDON, 


become easy, for conscience will approve and a 
blessing will rest upon it, because it is undertaken 
with a purpose to do right. No matter what 
Kitty Green or others do, your business is to rule 
your own spirit, and not provoke others to wra.th 
by resenting every oifence that may arise, but 
rather seek to learn how to forbear, and always he 
ready to forgive. Be true, Margaret, always—true 
to yourself—true to God, and keep truly in the 
path of rectitude and duty; and then, my child, 
although you cannot escape the trouble that the 
malice or misrepresentations of the evil-minded 
may cause, you will still be enabled to enjoy that 
peace which none but the children of God can 
ever know\ But it is now bed-time. I have had 
a busy day and am tired. Mary, bring the books 
and let us have prayers.’^ 

The books were brought; the hymn was sung; 
the portion of the Scripture read was the twenty- 
seventh Psalm, in which David sustains his faith 
by the power of Gk)d, by his love to the service of 
God and by prayer. Most earnest and impressive 
was the supplication that followed, in which, while 
the father commended his family to the protection 
and favour of God, he also entreated that they 
might be kept in the strait and narrow way— 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


15 


the only way in which the Christian disci2)le is safe— 
and that earnestness of purpose, unfaltering exer¬ 
tion and constant watchfulness might be given 
them, by which they might be enabled to press for¬ 
ward vigorously toward the mark for the prize of 
the high calling of God in Christ Jesus/^ The 
simple service ended, the good-night was said; but 
after the children had left the room, the door being 
left partly unclosed, Margaret heard her father, as 
leaning on his crutch he walked about the room, 
repeat to himself the sweet words of the Psalm he 
had just read: ^‘The Lord is my light and my salva¬ 
tion ; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength 
of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?’^ and they 
fell upon her heart with a holy unction ; and as she 
knelt beside her bed, the words so full of comfort to 
the sorrowing which she had just heard formed 
themselves into a prayer and blended sweetly with 
her usual nightly supplication: ‘^Lord, be thou my 
light and salvation, then shall I not fear; be thou 
the strength of my life, then shall I not be afraid;’’ 
and with her heart much relieved of the weight 
which had oppressed it throughout the day, she felt 
as if a new spirit had been given her; and repeating 
again and again the prayer she had just uttered, she 
resolved that it should be her watchword through- 


16 


MABGABET GORDON, 


out life, and with this resolve, she fell into a sweet 
sleep, such as is the right of every Christian to 
enjoy, for God giveth his beloved sleep/’ 

Our last thoughts at night are not without their 
consequences, for often it seems as if our last 
thoughts before sleep are impressed with peculiar 
power. When we have closed our eyes after humble 
and earnest prayer, as we reopen them to the light 
of a new day, so does a consciousness of the favour, 
love and protection of God accompany our waking. 
So was it now with Margaret Gordon. The family 
service of the preceding evening had not been a 
mere form; her prayer had been uttered with a 
feeling of trust and childlike faith. God never 
despises or rejects petitions made in such a spirit; 
and Margaret, when she heard her mother’s call to 
rise, did so with a nfew sense of energy and duty to 
begin the business of the day. 

A hard task, indeed, was that which lay before 
her—the hardest trial which perhaps any one can 
know—namely, a battle with self; and deeply im¬ 
pressed with the wdrds her father had quoted, 1 
can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth 
me,” she was, with the aid of assisting grace, de¬ 
termined to conquer. She must face the trial 
boldly; she must meet perhaps the derision of 


OR CAN I FORGlVEf 


17 


some of her school-mates, who, because she would 
not resent the offence in a spirit dictated by the 
unsanctified heart, would call her cowardly and 
mean; but, what was harder, she must meet one 
whom she had loved as a friend; one who had so 
wantonly injured and wounded her, and whom she 
never again could trust, and she must meet her 
in a different spirit from that which her natural 
temper prompted. Pride, a deep sense of wrong, 
disappointed ambition, and a dread of scorn and 
ridicule, all rose up to hedge and forbid the path 
which had been pointed out as present duty. 

All who have gone to school have experienced 
trials and hindrances caused by the jealousy or ill- 
feeling of others. But there are few who recognize 
how much greater an amount of heroism is requisite 
to know how to suffer and be stilF^ than to meet 
strife with strife and repay injury with angry 
words. Griefs and trials are all matters of com¬ 
parison, and a child is often overwhelmed by the 
force of some circumstance which another would 
resent, perhaps, by a storm of invective, and then 
be satisfied by maintaining either a steady enmity 
or lurking spirit of hatred, which on proper occa¬ 
sion would manifest itself. Margaret Gordon was 
not one of these; her education had been conducted 
2 


18 


MARGARET GORDON, 


by the gospel rules; she had some insight into the 
troubles incident to mortality, for childhood’s path 
had not been to her strewn with flowers; this was 
her first real difficulty, exclusively her own, and 
required an effort which she had never before been 
called upon to make. Nevertheless, although pain¬ 
fully sensible of what it would cost to overcome 
self and pass over the injury in the spirit of Him 
who said that the offending brother should be for¬ 
given, not seven times only, but seventy times 
seven,” she determined to act as her father advised, 
and thus achieve a victory, ^‘compared with which,” 
according to the Scripture rule, the laurels of the 
warrior’s wreath are weeds.” 

However, when the time for action came the fol¬ 
lowing day, her heart lost something of its stout¬ 
ness, and it was not without much anxiety and 
dread that she prepared to meet her treacherous 
friend, when she must practice the lesson which 
love and piety had inculcated, and her own heart told 
her was a right one. 

‘‘ Oh, father,” she said as she tied on her bonnet 
to go over to the school-room, how can I meet 
Kitty in the way you advise ? It will be so hard ! 
How shall I ever accomplish such a task ?” 

‘‘You have only to begin, and if you have 


OR CAN I FORGIVE! 


19 


prayed in a proper spirit and asked for grace to 
enable you to do right, you have already begun, 
replied her father. The purpose is the first step ; 
readiness to perform that purpose is another—^prayer¬ 
fully and perseveringly going forward in the work, 
and doing the task which God has allotted you with 
all your heart. Do right; dare to do so in spite 
of your companions’ remarks; let the duty which 
lies before you be the work of the present hour, 
and then wait 2>atiently for the next; and be assured 
that no right effort ever proves useless, and will in 
time bring its own reward.” 

We need never tremble for those who lean upon 
God and then walk boldly forth, watching their 
own hearts and performing their duty with a vigour 
of purpose which springs from a consciousness of 
power derived from steadfast faith. Margaret 
Gordon went to perform her hard duty armed with 
the safeguard of prayer. It is affliction that often- 
est teaches any one to pray in earnest; and whether 
her present sorrow was or was not a childish one, it 
had sunk deep in her heart, leaving a wound not 
soon to be healed ; and now, in accordance with the 
Bible precepts by which her home education had 
been conducted, she set out resolutely to meet the 
first difficulty to be encountered in the service of- 


20 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Christ—namely, self-denial; and armed with the 
true Christian armour, which is prayer, she con¬ 
quered. 

But we must now tell our young readers what 
was her present trial. No doubt they are all well 
acquainted with school difficulties, and know what 
severe griefs they often occasion. But can any 
lessons be learned from these ? The experiences 
of life begin early; happy are they who, like 
Margaret Gordon, make use* of them to subserve 
the purposes for which they are intended, and re¬ 
ceive them as wholesome discipline from a loving 
Father. 

James Gordon, her father, was the teacher of a 
flourishing country school in the neighbourhood of 

the large town of C-. Margaret was a girl of 

much more than ordinary capacity, and in no small 
degree ambitious; indeed ambition was her besetting 
sin. She wished to excel in everything she under¬ 
took, and, persevering and industrious, she spared 
no pains in the prosecution of her tasks. But she 
had, in addition to this natural temperament, an¬ 
other and a higher incentive; her father was a 
cripple in feeble health, her mother in nowise 
strong; she felt that it was her duty to aid, as soon 
and in whatever way she was able, in the general 



OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


21 


support. She had for the last year been particu¬ 
larly industrious and studious, hoping to gain 
some of the prizes; thus with a reputation for 
being competent to teach she might, when a little 
older, help her father in the labours of the school. 

She had, however, a formidable rival in one 
whom she loved and considered her best friend. 
Kitty Green was tbe daughter of a substantial 
farmer, who was a very rough and ignorant man, 
caring for nothing but money, and measuring 
every one according to his wealth. His wife was 
of a like spirit. From one brought up in such an 
atmosphere there w^as little to be expected. Kitty 
Green had never been taught to govern herself by 
Christian principle, or regulate her conduct by the 
rules laid down in the gospel. She had never 
been impressed with the important meaning em¬ 
bodied in the words spoken by the Saviour, “ Do 
unto others as you would that they should do unto 
you,^^ and was therefore unscrupulous in accom¬ 
plishing her purposes, and cared little how much 
she injured others, so that she attained her end. 
She was quick at learning and ambitious to excel, 
but it was less from a love of acquiring knowledge 
than from a w’ish to be first in everything. She 
could not bear to see herself exceeded by any one, 


22 


MARGARET GORDON, 


and in this love of exaltation was willing to stoop 
to any artifice in order that all should think well 
of her. And yet she had some redeeming traits, 
for none are all evil; with a different home educa¬ 
tion she might have been a different character; 
left to follow her own will without restraint, every 
noble and worthy impulse of her nature could not 
fail to be perverted. Her parents were anxious 
that she should have an “ edication,’^ of which they 
were sensible enough to feel the want in them¬ 
selves ; but they were too ignorant to know that 
drilling in books is but the half of education; to 
instill into the mind those high moral principles 
which should be in every heart the rule of action 
was a task far above their comprehension. 

Squire Green was the owner of a farm and dis¬ 
tillery, and considered a rich man; James Gordon 
was only a poor country schoolmaster, but although 
not possessing much of what the world prizes, he 
was a happier man than his richer neighbour, for 
he looked forward to a better and more enduring 
substance in heaven, the “recompense of reward’^ 
promised to them who by faith and patience in¬ 
herit the promises. The parents of the two girls 
thus different, it is not wonderful that their views 
of morality were totally unlike; Kitty was ap- 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


23 


plauded at home for her smartness, but she had 
never been told of the sinfulness of the acted lie, 
the injury done by deception, or taught that it is a 
dangerous and sinful state of mind to love the 
praise of men more than the praise of God. Mar¬ 
garet was instructed to regulate her life by a higher 
standard—namely, the rule of the Christian life as 
laid down by the Christian Lawgiver: ‘‘ Do unto 
others as ye would they should do unto you; for¬ 
give and ye shall be forgiven; love your enemies, 
and do good and lend, hoping for nothing again; 
bless them that curse you and pray for those who 
despitefully use you.” Thus taught from infancy, 
there was a root of strength in her, which, care¬ 
fully cherished, promised to bring forth fruit, even 
to sixty or an hundred-fold. She was too young 
to judge for herself in most things, but, led by her 
parents in the true way, she could pray, and she 
did pray in earnest, and in the sincerity of her 
childlike faith she experienced something of that 
enduring peace which is the inner life of a Chris¬ 
tian. Kitty and Margaret were in the same 
classes at school, and their parents being near 
neighbours, the two girls were very intimate. Kitty 
was the quicker of the two; Margaret, the most 
studious and the better scholar. The handwriting 


24 


MABGABI:T GORDON, 


of both was particularly good, and Kitty had no 
competitor except Margaret. 

Every one knows what examination-day is; a 
day seemingly formidable to pupils, is, at the same 
time, a day of expectation and delight. The pupils 
in the lower branches were examined first, and the 
writing-class made a capital show, for the table was 
covered with fine specimens of what the young 
scribblers could do. The room was to be arranged 
the evening before; Margaret assisted, but was 
obliged to go home at an earlier hour than the rest, 
and, never dreaming of evil, left her copy-book and 
specimen’’ in her unlocked desk. Kitty Green 
was among those who remained, and saw where the 
unsuspicious owner had left her writing-book, and 
she was beset by a temptation to remove the only 
obstacle to her gaining the wished-for medal, and 
for which there was now a most favourable oppor- 
tuhity. It was getting dark before their work was 
finished, and only two besides herself remained; 
and, as she had no religious scruples and very little 
moral feeling, she yielded to the temptation. 

Maggie can get the prize for arithmetic, for which 
I have no chance,” said she to herself. The medal 
for writing is now within my reach : why should I 
not grasp it?” and believing that Mary Burton and 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


25 


Lizzie Brooks were too busy to notice her, she ad¬ 
vanced to Margaret’s desk and overturned an ink- 
bottle which stood within it, so that not only the 
carefully-prepared work of the unsuspecting owner, 
but everything near it, was deluged with the black 
fluid. Nothing, however, was displaced, and the 
overturned ink-bottle was left to exhaust itself, 
so that the whole might seem the result of acci¬ 
dent. 

The act, however, had not passed unobserved by 
the two girls who remained, and when they found 
Margaret so greatly mortified and cast down on 
account of her lamentable failure, they told her 
what they had seen; and in the angry mood occa¬ 
sioned by the knowledge of the unfair advantage 
Kitty Green had taken, we have introduced the 
schoolmaster’s daughter to our young friends. 

Our readers, most of whom have experienced 
such hopes and fears as swayed the heart of 
INIargaret Gordon on examination-day, may well 
imagine what she felt when she went to her desk 
and saw its condition. Her fine specimen’^ 
writing, which she had so carefully prepared, was 
not only a specimen” of her best writing, but was 
a piece of her own composition. She had tied the 
pages together very neatly with blue ribbon, and 


26 


MARGARET GORDON, 


ornamented the title-page with some artisiical 
dashes and designs which she had copied from her 
father’s books; and her blank dismay when she saw 
the shipwreck of all her hopes, only too clearly 
made plain by the condition of all the things 
within her desk, may better be imagined than 
described. The consequence was, that, discouraged 
and bewildered, she could scarcely answer a single 
question proposed ; failure, to the astonishment of 
all—downright failure—was all she liad to repay 
her for six months of hard study and painful appli¬ 
cation. Ah yes! so it seemed to her at the time, 
and so it seemed too to those who knew and loved 
her. But so in reality it was not. It was a 
lesson—such as all such lessons ought to be con¬ 
sidered—of God’s own teaching. The hardest 
lesson any one can learn is, perhaps, to bear and 
conquer sorrow, and believe that every dispensation 
is from God, who knows exactly what we need, and 
never sends the discipline of sutfering except in 
love. Her grief at her total failure had been more 
on account of the hindrance it would cause to her 
plan of assisting her father in his increasing infirm¬ 
ities, when she had been exhibited in the presence 
of those she expected to serve as an example of stu¬ 
pidity. She would be looked upon as a blockhead, 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


27 


and her alarmed fancy pictured the worst conse¬ 
quences. She went, therefore, to the school-house 
in a very humble mood, and subdued almost to heart¬ 
brokenness, until she heard from the excited party 
there what Kitty Green—one whom she had always 
loved and trusted—had done. 

Margaret Gordon was a good girl, and, brought 
up as we have described, mature beyond her years, 
and prayerful and God-fearing, was careful to 
maintain a consistent walk. Grief arising from 
poverty and sorrow for her father’s misfortune she 
had for a long time known, but nothing until now 
had occurred to awaken such vehement emotion or 
arouse the spirit of Avratli that lay slumbering in 
her breast unsuspected by herself; and we are sorry 
to say that, encouraged by her companions, not one 
of whom tried to excuse the culprit or soothe the 
injured one, she, for the time, gave way completely to 
the spirit of anger, and declared that she would 
never, never forgive Kitty Green. In this stormy 
mood our young readers have first seen her; they 
are yet to see what grace can do, and how mighty 
is the change it effects. Her anger did not soon 
subside, and it was well that she did not meet Kitty 
Green until the scriptural teaching of her pious 
father, like oil upon the troubled waters, soothed her 


28 


MARGARET GORDON, 


into a better spirit and turned her anger into the 
channel of forgiveness. 

She therefore, when she met Kitty Green, showed 
no resentment nor gave lier any reason to suppose that 
she was cognizant of her baseness; yet it required 
a strong effort to conquer her natural, self when 
she saw her wearing the red ribbon and shining 
medal which she and every one of her school-mates 
considered was justly hers. Whether any one re¬ 
proached Kitty with unfair dealing, we cannot tell; 
but certain it is that she, from that time, tried in 
every way to avoid and sneer at Margaret, who, 
although perfectly aware of the change, never by 
word or deed seemed to notice it; the conduct of 
each thus proving the truth of the saying that 
‘‘ Those against whom our hearts harden most are 
not those who have wronged us, but those whom 
we have wronged.’^ 

We have taken up a whole chapter in explaining 
a childish difficulty and a childish sorrow, such as 
most have met and many will yet meet. It is a 
common thing to say in such cases to a troubled 
child, What nonsense it is to cry about such a 
trifle! You will laugh at such things when you 
have real troubles to fret about, as you are sure to 
have by and by.’’ Tins is the consolation most of 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


29 


us have had administered in childhood, and we 
have repeated it to others since the time we left 
childish sorrows far behind. But we believe in 
the purifying influence even of childish sorrow, 
when it is impressed upon a child’s heart, as it was 
on Margaret Gordon’s, as a means of instruction 
now to profit by the discipline. Many, perhaps all, 
have these keen moments, and they do not pass 
without leaving a trace; we may not be able to 
recall their poignancy or weep over their recollection, 
as we did when the sorrow was present, or as Ave 
do now over the greater troubles which we have 
met in maturer life, but every one of them has left 
its trace “ and lives in us still,” and happy is it 
for those to Avhom, like Margaret Gordon, through 
grace the teaching has proved salutary. 



CHAPTER II. 


MARGARET'S HOME AND FAMILY. 

^j^AMES GORDON, the father of Margaret, was 
j| the only son of a hard-working but intelligent 
^ and respectable stone-mason, who instead of 
foolishly indulging his children, endeavoured, from 
their earliest infancy to train them to the perform¬ 
ance of such duties as belonged to the condition of 
life to which they were born. Industry and 
obedience he taught them from the first, but he 
made the former easy by kind encouragement of the 
task, or turned it into play by his assistance. 
“ You set your children at work early,” was a 
remark often made to him. ‘^Do let them play 
while they are little, for the poor things will have 
it hard enough after a while, and childhood is so 
short.” To which he would reply : “ I should be 
sorry to oppress children, but I believe that educa¬ 
tion ought to be commenced in infancy. A child 
naturally begins to play without any teaching, and 
I am sure the plays my children find for themselves 
are harder and more toilsome than any task I ever 

30 


CAN I FORGIVE? 


31 


give them. I never drive them to work, or keep 
them at it too long, but endeavour to turn it into 
pastime. My children will have to earn their own 
living, and I am trying to fit them for it by giving 
them habits of industry and usefulness, which are 
often better than fortune; for habit is not easily 
laid aside, and the habits I am trying to teach 
them will always keep the possessor above want. 
Even a child of four years old can achieve some¬ 
thing useful, instead of doing mischief, and besides, 
having a little work to do keeps children out of 
harm’s way.” 

Not only, however, was James Gordon’s training 
guided according to the rules of worldly prudence; 
the higher rules necessary to the education of heirs 
of immortality were inculcated in the most im2)res- 
sive manner, and made, as they ever ought to be, 
of paramount importance. Thus taught to look 
forward to life in a proper light, and regard time as 
a gift too precious to be trifled with or wasted, he 
was gradually fitted to fill, worthily, the condition 
to which the Unerring One had allotted him. 
Descended from a long line of Scottish ancestry, 
distinguished for piety, and suffering in the times 
of the persecution of the Covenanters, their ex¬ 
ample was often placed before him; and whilst 


32 


MARGARET GORDON, 


encouraged to learn all he could from books, he 
was often admonished to" be careful to maintain’’ 
the good name which belonged to the family and 
was their only boast. See that you never do any¬ 
thing to disgrace your family; who, although poor, 
and most of them mechanics, as you will have to 
be, were yet considered worthy to hold high offices 
in the Church, and respected for their upright 
walk.” 

These admonitions sank to the bottom of the 
boy’s heart; and whilst he was careful to regulate 
his conduct so as perfectly to satisfy his parents, he 
pursued such learning as came within his reach 
with avidity, and stored his mind with such know¬ 
ledge as might prove useful to him in after life. 
His parents lived in the country, in the neighbour¬ 
hood of several rich gentlemen, whose sons went to 
the same school, and as they often studied together, 
and James often helped them with their lessons, he 
became quite a favourite, and the intimacy which 
ensued was quite an advantage to him. They lent 
him books from their father’s libraries, which he 
read in his leisure hours; travels, histories, and 
other useful works kept him fully employed, so 
that by the time he was fourteen, when he must 
begin an apprenticeship, he had treasured up a 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


33 


mass of information the value of which he after¬ 
ward found out. He was not strong enough to 
follow his father’s trade, but chose to be a carpen¬ 
ter, and w'as accordingly apprenticed to a house¬ 
builder in the large town of N-, a worthy and 

exemplary man, who was careful of his boys ; and 
soon finding out the integrity of his character, 
placed the highest confidence in him, and treated 
him as he would a son. When put in charge of 
anything, he was conscientiously careful to fulfil his 
trust; executed errands with despatch and faithful¬ 
ness; nothing would tempt him to waste his mas¬ 
ter’s time in his own gratification. These high 
moral qualifications were, however, not the best 
part of his character. Without ostentation, and 
in true sincerity, he was regular in the perform¬ 
ance of all the religious duties the observance of 
which had been so early and so deeply inculcated, 
and in everything sought the blessing of God, 
without which neither success nor happiness can 
be realized. Great was the change to the country 
boy from the quiet ways of a rustic community to 
the more exciting scenes of town society. Temp¬ 
tations and evils, such as are never thought of in 
the country, are to be encountered, and none can 
pass through them unscathed unless fortified with 
3 



34 


MARGARET GORDON, 


strong religious principles and possessing one in¬ 
valuable moral quality—viz., decision. This he had 
in a high degree, as well as self-command, so that 
when laughed at, as he often was, by his fellow- 
apprentices for his country habits and puritanical 
notions, he took no notice of either their shouts or 
sneers. When he would tell of this treatment at 
home, his father would say: 

Never mind them. All you have to do is to be 
honest and steady: aim at excellence as every 
Christian ought to do in whatever may be your 
calling. To improve your talent, although it is but 
one, that you may faithfully and gratefully fulfil 
the trust which the great Master has given to 
every one to effectually perform his part in the 
great battle of life, is the spirit of Christ; but to 
improve that talent to outrun or eclipse others, or 
enrich or exalt ourselves, is the spirit of the world. 
Therefore never suffer yourself to be led away 
by persuasion or example, or dread of ridicule. 
You may never be anything more than a common 
workman, yet you may still be very happy, 
for happiness ever consists in the performance of 
duty. 

But remember, that in every calling you are 
charged with the solemn responsibility of adorning 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


35 


the gospel; and therefore while diligent in business, 
you are not only bound to maintain strict integrity, 
but also so to walk before your worldly com¬ 
panions as becomes one who professes to be a fol¬ 
lower of Christ/’ 

These teachings were not without effect, or as 
water which spilled upon the ground cannot be 
gatliered, but, carefully treasured and long remem¬ 
bered, were afterward used as household words 
when he had a family of his own. Years passed 
on, his parents died, and he was left without guar¬ 
dian or protector at an age most dangerous, and 
exposed to bad example and the temptations 
always to be found in large towns. He, however, 
remained steady, and in the evenings, when his 
fellow-apprentices sought amusement at theatres or 
bar-rooms, he read the books he obtained from the 
public libraries. Thus did this poor apprentice 
lay up a fund of knowledge, never dreaming what 
a mine of wealth it was to prove when he was 
called to fill a different place from the one he had 
anticipated. 

We cannot trace his course through a series of 
seven years, but only say that at twenty-one he 
was master of his trade, but preferred to remain as 
a journeyman with his master, rather than to 


36 


MARGARET GORDON, 


set up for himself. In his boyish days lie had 
often found pastime in fashioning rude pieces of 
sculpture in bone or wood; and afterward, when he 
had acquired some readiness with tools and skill in 
his trade, it occurred to him that in the evenings 
he might work a little at his wood-carving, and 
thus add something to his earnings. He became 
quite expert, and, with the profit he reaped and by 
economizing his wages, he had soon deposited a 
little fund in a bank to be ready, as he said, for a 
rainy day. 

Alice Lee was the daughter of a deceased min¬ 
ister, who, broken down by the cares and anxieties 
of a straitened life, was at length overwhelmed 
by trial and disappointment and wearing poverty, 
which ended finally in a rest and peace never more 
to be disturbed. 

The widow and her two daughters had to 
rehearse the old story; they had left their country 
home and come to town in search of employment. 
They lived on in their bereavement, sorrowful indeed, 
but taking comfort in each other and in the one spe¬ 
cific for all ills—earnest, trustful prayer. The elder 
sister taught a little school, and the mother and 
Alice worked at plain sewing or embroidery, and 
were able to support themselves after a humble 


OB CAN 1 FORGIVE? 


37 


fashion; but Lucy married and went to live in a 
distant city, and Alice was content to toil with 
^patience and thankfulness so long as her mother 
remained to strengthen her hands, cheer her heart 
and bless her with her tender love. But soon the 
time came when the mother was no longer there— 
when the lips that had spoken words of holy love 
and fervent faith were closed for ever, and the 
young girl, orphaned and almost desolate, felt life a 
burden too heavy to be endured. But she was 
young, and life and energy are strong in youth, and 
the necessity for active exertion forced her to 
shake off her sorrow and find work to do; and she 
was glad to find that many of her mother’s cus¬ 
tomers still gave her sewing enough to furnish 
scanty support. 

James Gordon had for a long time been 
acquainted with the family, and in a short time 
after Mrs. Lee’s death he took Alice to a new 
home as his wife. She proved indeed a helpmeet, 
for she still continued to work with her needle; 
both were frugal and industrious; prosperity 
smiled so brightly upon them for a time that 
James Gordon began to think of commencing busi¬ 
ness for himself. And, now that the current of their 
lives ran so smoothly, was there no danger that, 


08 


MARGARET GORDON, 


finding this world such a desirable home, they 
might make shipwreck of their faith in tlie quiet 
haven of domestic bliss ? Perhaps they were un¬ 
consciously building too much on what they had 
already received, forgetting, though 

tlieoretically remembering,’^ that trouble is a part 
of the Christian’s inheritance; the cross must in 
some form be borne, so that those who belong to 
the ‘‘little flock” to whom is promised the king¬ 
dom have ill reality more cause to wonder when 
they are out of trouble than when they are in it. 
There was a time of sore trial a})pointed to James 
Gordon by Him who knows best what his children 
need, but who never sends more affliction than they 
can bear. 

One day, when he was at work on a high build¬ 
ing, the scaffold on which he stood broke, and 
he fell to the ground, half buried in the fragments 
that had fallen with him. These were soon re¬ 
moved, and he was carried home in a state of 
insensibility, from which it was thought he would 
never arouse. Yet after a long time he showed 
signs of amendment, but was found to be so much 
injured that he would never be able to resume his 
trade, but must remain a cripple for life. This 
was a great trial, but he knew where to look for 


OB CAN I FOEGlVEf 


39 


comfort amidst darkness and discouragement^ and 
instead of yielding to despondency, with a faith 
undimmed by a single doubt he turned to the 
Friend whose presence he ever felt and in whose 
love he ever trusted; and in the peace which this 
confidence brought his sinking spirit reposed as 
under the shadow of a great rock in a weary 
land.’’ It was a dark dispensation by which he was 
thus tried, but it was the appointment of Infinite 
love; he could not fathom its meaning, but it could 
not be other than merciful; and in the sweet assur¬ 
ance that the same untiring watchfulness which had 
heretofore guided his earthly course would still 
accompany him, he enjoyed a foretaste of that peace 
which passeth all understanding. They had always 
lived in a comfortable home in a pleasant part of 
the town, but they gave it up now, and rented two 
rooms from a widow who lived in the suburbs, and 
tried to be not only contented, but happy in their 
altered lot. We have all been taught from early 
childhood to repeat daily those solemn words, ^^Thy 
will be done,” but many who learn them say them 
over without taking in their meaning. James 
Gordon was not of this number; he felt and realized 
what the petition embodied in those four little 
words, Thy will be done,^’ meant, and, uttered in 


40 


MARGARET GORDON, 


the true spirit of supplication, made all the severe 
lessons of his after life comparatively easy. 

The winter after his accident was a severe one; 
there was a money panic, provisions were scarce 
and dear, and little work to be had; the poor suf¬ 
fered often for the bare necessaries of life. Alice 
now proved her worth by her uncomplaining in¬ 
dustry and strict economy. She was an excellent 
manager, and used every exertion to lessen the dif¬ 
ficulties of their present condition; but with all the 
efforts of herself and Margaret, the eldest daughter, 
she had hard work to make both ends meet”—a 
phrase full of sorrowful meaning, and understood 
by most. The family at this time consisted of the 
parents and three children—Margaret, then in her 
eleventh year; Robert, who was blind, having lost 
his sight in a fever; and little Mary,” as they 
called her, the pet of the family, and until now 
^^good for nothing but to love and be loved by the 
rest.” But the time had come when each one must 
do something, and aid in the general support. 
The father, as soon as he was able to sit up in bed, 
although his left hand was almost useless, began 
his wood-carving • the mother and Margaret were 
constantly sewing; and although Robert and Mary 
could not do very much, they were preparing 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


41 


themselves to be useful. A basket-maker, a child¬ 
less old man, who lived in the next house, took a 
great fancy to the blind boy, and taught him how 
to make rough baskets and other wdckerwork. 
The widow in whose house they lived was a straw- 
plaiter, and as little Mary often did errands for 
her and assisted her with many kind turns, she 
showed her how to plait straw and gave her ma¬ 
terials to work with. It was little that the 
younger children could do, but life is made up of 
little doings; and therefore children at a very early 
age may do something if they try, for it is not 
what is done, but why it is done, that is of conse¬ 
quence. 

The peasants of Brittany call January ^Hhe 
white month,^^ but this year it w^as very black to 
the Gordons. Winter may be a pleasant season to 
those who possess a competency, and this afflicted 
family had once found it so, but it was different 
now. The crippled father was not always able to 
work, nor could Alice get sewing enough to keep 
her constantly busy; and although ^^seara, gusset 
and band,’^ and ‘^stitch, stitch,^^ are sadly tiresome, 
she would greatly have preferred the fatigue of too 
much labour to the forced idleness she was obliged 
to endure. Several applications had been made to 


42 


MARGARET GORDON, 


the little fund in the bank, and, as what was taken 
out was not replaced, they regarded its diminution 
with great anxiety. With prospects so dark, it 
would not have been wonderful if the family at¬ 
mosphere had been one of sadness and repining. 
James Gordon, however, was not one to despond 
or doubt, for although, as w’as natural, he often con¬ 
templated the future wdth anxiety, his faith in the 
promises of a covenant-keeping God was too 
strong for him to distrust that all things should 
w'ork together for good.^’ Trouble, sickness, sor¬ 
row and poverty, he w'as assured, were, even now, 
all operating for his advantage in God’s own time 
and way, and in this beautiful and comforting 
belief he possessed a treasure greater than all the 
riches of the earth. 

If Alice had had her golden dreams during the 
days of their prosperity—for mothers are apt to 
dream of their children’s future, and those dreams 
are always bright—she never exhibited her disap- 
])ointment in a change of temper or murmurs at 
tlieir present lot; but borrowing sunshine from her 
husband’s hoping spirit and armed with the same 
unhesitating faith, she too w^as willing to receive 
the allotments of a covenant-keeping God as tlic 
very best that could hapj)en to them. Aiid so they 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


43 


were contented, nay happy, as all must be who put 
their trust in God. United in heart, all trying 
to do what they could, they acknowledged with 
deep thankfulness that if they had many priva¬ 
tions, they also had many comforts, and to their 
many trials had corresponding blessings; and as a 
child in its grief hides its face in its mother’s lap, 
so they found shelter from what might have proved 
an overwhelming sorrow under the shadow of 
God’s love. 

Martin Luther, speaking of his own faith, tells 
somewhere of a little bird, which finding a 
sheltered place, goes to roost quietly, rocking itself 
to sleep without a care for to-morrow’s lodgings, 
calmly holding by its little twig and leaving God 
to care for him.” And so in this severe January 
weather and the succeeding wintry months, when 
everything was so hard to be got, Mr. Gordon 
thanked God for present mercies, and, trying to do 
all that he could, he, like Martin Luther’s little 
bird, left all the rest to his heavenly Father. We 
have already said that he had a better education 
than most of his class, and now that his children 
could not go to school, he taught them himself 
and his lessons were instructive and elevating— 
travels, history, or the wonderful things found in 


44 


MARGARET GORDON, 


the kingdom of nature, through which he led them 
to think of the unspeakable goodness of God, who 
has given so much beauty to this sinful earth. But, 
above all, they were taught to read the Bible 
reverently, and reduce its lessons to daily practice. 
They were also induced to find illustrations of 
Christian truth in its pages, thus storing their 
minds with a wealth of Scripture knowledge, the 
value of which was afterward proved. In the 
escape of Lot and his family from Sodom was 
shown the danger of despising warning and un¬ 
belief ; Jacob’s well and the smitten rock of Meribah 
Avere not without significance, and a suggestive 
lesson was found in the history of the palm trees, 
which are so valuable in those Eastern lands. 

Josephus tells that it was the custom to hang 
heavy weights upon those trees, but as soon as these 
weights were removed, and often when they were 
not, the trees, spurning all restraint and hindrance, 
would again spring up heavenward.” Thus, it has 
been said, it is Avith the true Christian : although 
bending for a time under the heavy weight of 
affliction, he cannot be forced to grovel on the 
earth, but looks heaveuAvard in spite of all opposi¬ 
tion.” Neither can the sapling palm be bent as most 
other plants may; and thus it is with young Chris- 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


45 


tians who are firm in faith. If they are indeed 
trees of God^s planting, he will care for them, and 
never suffer them to be moved while they trust in 
him. Margaret liked these instructions or conver¬ 
sations better than any amusement, and listened 
attentively, although she was too timid to say much 
in answer. She therefore listened silently, but, like 
Mary, she treasured the lessons in her heart, and 
the time came when she proved their value. The 
careful study of the Bible is itself an education; 
science sometimes bewilders and leads astray, but 
religion enlightens every mind, making wise unto 
salvation, and is the only safe chart to steer by in 
the rugged voyage of life. And it is wonderful 
how the texts and passages written in its beautiful 
language, and learned either as Sabbath lessons at 
home or at school in the happy days of youth, rise 
up in after life, in moments of darkness, of sorrow 
or temptation; how God’s commands are re¬ 
membered and serve as guides in circumstances of 
doubt and perplexity; and above all the sweet 
promises that strength according to the day shall 
be given,” and assurances of the love which never 
fails come to cheer and encourage in seasons when 
it seems that the troubles of earth are too great to 
be borne. 


46 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Brought up ill such an atmosphere as we have just 
described, and surrounded by the salutary influences 
of judicious and pious training, Margaret learned 
early the true value of life, and the importance of 
the duties belonging to it; she was thoughtful be¬ 
yond her years, grave at times, but never sad, for 
although fully aware of the weight of the present 
family trials, she shed sunshine over the domestio 
circle—the sunshine of a loving, cheerful and con¬ 
tented spirit. Her character was one which devel¬ 
oped slowly, as is the case with all whose disposi¬ 
tions, like hers, are grafted upon candour and 
honesty of purpose. At the age of twelve the bud 
was scarcely more than formed, but within it was 
the perfect flower, and the germ could not fail to 
mature to perfection, because truth was the founda¬ 
tion on which her character was based. Eminently 
practical and essentially active and energetic, both 
in body and mind, she was yet the possessor of 
higher impulses ; unpretending, unexcitable, almost 
to seeming passiveness, none could have imagined 
the intense earnestness as well as tenderness of 
spirit that lay within those hidden depths, nor the 
child-like conscientiousness which regulated her 
every action. Nevertheless she was not perfect— 
for who is?—and she sometimes gave way to sallies 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


47 


of anger, as has been shown in our first chapter; 
and her feelings, when suddenly excited, as they had 
been on that occasion, would find vent in quick 
answers or angry resolutions, but they were always 
followed by bitter repentance. But faithfully ad¬ 
monished where her weakness lay, and haVing 
moral courage to see herself in a true light, and 
seeking the need of support from a better strength 
than her own, she knew where to go to seek for 
forgiveness for her shortcomings, or for patience 
and perseverance in the endeavour to conquer her 
faults—a task which her father told her was never 
accomplished without much trouble. She was 
often, too, reminded of the duty of self-examina¬ 
tion ; how necessary It is for every one who would 
live so as to please God; and although with the 
instability of childhood, she would yield to the 
promj3tings of a sinful heart, it was never without 
compunction. But she had heard, too, that the 
work of a Christian is the work of a whole life, 
and no one must despair because they are not per¬ 
fect at once; that aid and support are promised 
and given in such a warfare; and that no one who 
asks help from Him who is mighty to save is ever 
cast out. The prospect and hope of heavenly aid 
is always the trust of the contrite spirit: and en- 


48 


MARGARET GORDON. 


couraged by the sweet assurance that there was a 
Friend in heaven who was ever ready to forgive, 
and have conapassion on those whom he loved so 
well as to die for them, she went to him with all 
her fears and griefs; and most sincere was her 
prayer for conquest over self, and entreaty that all 
the work allotted her might be done with the eye 
single” to the glory of God; and as no true sup¬ 
pliant is ever turned away from the throne of grace 
wholly comfortless, the asked-for aid was vouch¬ 
safed, and she at last gained the victory. To 
do right, and to regulate her life by the example 
of Him who taught, ^‘If any one will come after 
me, let him take up his cross and follow me,” was 
from this time her supreme endeavour. She spared 
no pains in the discharge of her daily duties; she 
did what faith and love prompted her to do, and in 
the discharge of their requirements found not only 
safety but happiness, for it was the service of God, 
which is perfect freedom. Her heart was filled 
with cheerfulness and hope, and she at length 
realized the truth of the Psalmist^s words: Thou 
wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is 
stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee.” 


CHAPTER III. 


GOD CARES FOR THE SPARROWS, AND PROVIDES FOR ALL. 

f HE winter, which always brings sufferings and 
privations to the poor, was in 18— unusually 
severe. But the months of snow and bitter 
cold had passed away, and March, with its wild and 
blustering winds, was advancing toward its end, but 
no change had taken place in the circumstances of 
the Gordons. Provisions were still high and work 
scarce as ever, and it is not to be wondered at if, 
although still strong in the faith of heavenly pro¬ 
tection, James Gordon’s deep anxiety should at 
times have been apparent in the increased serious¬ 
ness of his whole demeanor. Margaret noticed how 
gray her father had grown—how worn and aged 
both he and her mother looked; and, seized with 
an impatient restlessness to do something to aid the 
family resources, she began to plan what that some¬ 
thing should be. 

I could go out as a nurse or a chambermaid if 
I was a little older; to be sure, the folks we used 
to know when we lived up street would think it 

4 49 



50 


MARGARET GORDON, 


was a terrible come-down; I should not, however, 
care much for that, for father always says that it is 
God who appoints our condition, and we ought 
never to murmur, for that all things shall work 
together for good. But I must say I wish we were 
not so poor; before father got that dreadful fall, we 
had everything as nice as other folks, but now, when 
I meet the Blakes and the Thomsons, as I often do 
when I am carrying home work up town, they pass 
as if they had never known me.’^ 

With such soliloquies, in spite of her confidence in 
her father’s teachings, there would come upon her a 
bitter sense of the inequalities of life, and it would 
sometimes seem as if Heaven was unjust in giving 
so much to some, to others nothing. But her spirit 
would not thus rebel long. The faith which had 
been handed down from her Scotch ancestors, much 
of which she could not understand, had, as one 
has said of the Calvinistic belief, much sweetness 
at the root.” For it is a faith which teaches the 
peace of resting, child-like, beneath the shadow of 
that Omnipotent will which holds every tangled 
thread of life within one mighty Hand—which 
rules all things, and rules them continually for 
good. 

One day, as Margaret was returning from an 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


51 


errand up town, she met a party of young girls, 
gayly dressed and talking in loud and boisterous 
tones. It was plain that they had not the orna¬ 
ment of a meek and quiet spirit, which is of great 
price in the sight of God. As she came near to 
them, she perceived they were her former acquaint¬ 
ances, and, glad to see them, she was about to accost 
them, when, after giving her a rude stare, they 
turned abruptly away. A feeling of indignation, 
which was not lessened by the laugh which met 
her ear after they passed, flashed over her; her 
sensitive feelings were touched to the quick, and 
her natural high temper aroused in its fullest force. 
But her anger could not last long, for she had 
begun to walk patiently in that path which is lit by 
a holy light and leads to rest; and although some¬ 
times she faltered and yielded to the sway of her 
natural irritability and easily-excited temper, she 
was under the influence of one Power which was 
always able to stay such outbursts of feeling as 
were aroused on this occasion. Her anger soon 
gave place to softer emotions, and although 
wounded and disappointed, as the tears that dropped 
on her faded calico sleeve plainly attested, she 
was able to reason calmly with herself: Am 
I not wrong to be angry ? Mary Blake and the 


52 


MARGARET GORDON, 


rest of these girls may look clown upon me if they 
choose, for I. su])pose that, as their fathers have 
grown richer and mine has become poorer, we are 
now in different positions, and I must be content to 
bear with the circumstances which will arise out of 
this difference. Father said once, when I told him 
how badly some of the girls had behaved to me, 
‘ Never think of slights for a moment unless they 
are caused by your own misconduct. It is no 
matter what people say or think of us, provided we 
act our parts well.’ And he said, too, ‘ that it 
was not for pleasant things only that we live; it is 
to do with all our might that which is set before 
us to do, for our heavenly Father gave us the 
work.’ ” 

These reflections calmed her aroused spirit 
so far that the incident did not materially depress 
her, and she felt that she could forgive it. But it 
was not so easy to forget, and the remembrance of 
it haunted her for many days. Those girls had 
once been her companions; they had played together 
and sat side by side at school, but they were chil¬ 
dren then, and had not learned the distinctions 
which wealth makes, even in those of the same class. 

Have any of our young readers ever passed through 
a similar ordeal? Most likely they have, and may 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


63 


yet remember the pang it caused. We hear con¬ 
stant lamentations over the trials and difficulties 
of life; but, after all, does not half of the unhap¬ 
piness of life grow out of jealousies, slights and 
envyings which a resolute attention to the work 
which is allotted us (and everybody has a work to 
do, whether he thinks so or not) would put to 
flight and spread a blue sky over the heart ?’’ The 
Gordons could not be unhappy long; no matter 
what the toils of the day had been, the evenings 
were always pleasantly spent, for it was impossible 
to be dull in the presence of the father, even 
crippled and suffering as he now was. He was not 
only a man of strong faith, but also of a peculiarly 
bright and happy spirit, looking always on the best 
side of everything, and the sunshine within’^ that 
illumined his own loving heart communicated its 
cheering influence to his little circle, even when 
their prospects were darkest, and made them forget 
that they were poor. If what Dr. Johnson says is 
true, that the habit of looking at the bright side 
of everything is worth a thousand a year,^^ then 
James Gordon was by no means a poor man, 
although scarcely able at this time to obtain daily 
bread. Contentment with godliness is great gain, 
and this it was his privilege to ejijoy. Margaret, 


54 


MARGARET GORDON, 


as we have said, had her feelings rudely touched 
by the occurrence of the morning, but such was the 
tranquillizing influence diffused by the atmosphere 
of home that before the evening was over her 
cheerfulness was restored, and she told the treat¬ 
ment she had met with. 

^^You must not suffer yourself to be discom¬ 
posed by trifles, Margaret,’^ said her father. You 
will have to learn that wealth, in the estimation 
of the world, elevates its possessor above those 
who are really their superiors, but are looked down 
upon because they are not rich. Most persons 
would consider the incident of to-day as very 
trifling; and so it is, scarcely deserving a thought, 
for we ought never to think of slights except they 
are caused by our own misconduct. However, 
trifles are not always trivial, and sometimes prove 
a greater trial than things of more importance; and 
you must remember that we are not sent into the 
world to meet with pleasant things only; it is our 
duty to do with all our might the work our heav¬ 
enly Father has given us, and doing this with ^an 
eye single,’ it is no matter what* people say or 
think, provided we are assured of our own motives, 
for who can harm us if we follow after that which 
is good? These little trials are the tests of what 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


55 


we are, rather than greater ones, for they find ns 
unprepared, and it is of less consequence what the 
work we do is than the manner in which it is 
done. Besides, those little trials do us good in¬ 
stead of harm, for they bestow a kind of moral 
hardihood most important for the emergencies of 
life, and must be acquired in the season and 
through the incidents of youth, growing with the 
growth and strengthening with the strength, to fit 
us for the battle which is ^ to bring every thought 
into captivity to the obedience of Christ.^ And 
now, I trust you will not allow yourself to be un¬ 
happy because our present circumstances separate 
you from those who were once your companions; 
and I am sure you will not, when you remember 
that it is God who has willed your present lot, and 
given you a work to do—the work of self-discipline 
—requiring great energy and watchfulness, without 
which nothing can be done. Worh for some goody 
he it ever so lowly, but let it be done with a stout 
heart and resolute will—work that shall turn to ac¬ 
count in the stern reckoning of the long day of 
life—work for Him to whom nothing is great, and 
therefore nothing can be little.^^ 

Margaret listened attentively, for she was deeply 
impressed by her father’s words, and resolved tp 


56 


MARGARET GORDON. 


do her allotted work in a right spirit. But the 
wound she had received did not readily heal; she 
had many conflicts with her own proud spirit, and 
she began to think that the strait and narrow way 
of which our Saviour spoke, as the only safe way 
in which a Christian could walk, was strait and 
narrow indeed, and hard to be kept. She had 
heard her father speak much of the duty of for¬ 
giveness, and say that although there arc some in 
the world whom we cannot love but for Christ’s 
sake, there are duties we owe to them, as being 
children of one great family, which cannot be set 
aside. The performance of those duties is often 
liard, but what cannot we do for His sake who died 
for us, even when we were yet enemies? Since 
father says so, it must be right, and I will try to 
feel most kindly toward those girls,” was her con¬ 
clusion after the conversation ended, and kneeling 
by her bedside she covered her face with her hands, 
and prayed not only that a meek and forgiving 
spirit might be granted her, but that she might be 
fitted for a patient endurance of trial, and be made 
stronger and better thereby; and when she laid her 
head upon her pillow, she felt her heart penetrated 
with that deep love and trust which earnest, fervent 
prayer is sure to bestow. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDEED. 

J HE following morning ushered in a wild 
March day; the bleak wind that blustered 
and grumbled round the house roared also 
angrily down the wide chimney, where a scanty 
wood-fire was burning, as if bent on resisting the 
genial ascent of the flame that resolutely made its 
way upward, and endeavoured to dispense warmth 
and a cheerful glow over the humble room of the 
Gordons. Showers of sleet and snow drove past 
the w'indows at intervals, and kept up a noisy 
pelting on the panes, as if demanding admittance 
to the scant fireside. It was a day on which few 
W'ould venture out, and as few ever called upon 
this reduced family, even in good weather and on 
business, no visitor could be expected on such a 
day as this. And yet a visitor, a good Samaritan 
possessing the spirit of the Master he professed to 
serve, found his way there amid the pitiless pelt- 
ings of the storm, admitting no hindrance in the 

prosecution of the duties belonging to his high 

57 



58 


MARGARET GORDON, 


calling. Mrs. Gordon and Margaret were busy,on 
the work brought the evening before, j\Iary at her 
usual task of plaiting straw, and Robert, seated on 
the floor, pursued his basket-making, and kept up 
the fire with the refuse of his work. The fiither 
of the family was not given to self-indulgence, and 
although much crippled and for ever incapable of 
active labour, had also his employment. We have 
already spoken of his skill as a wood carver, and 
his success in making heads for umbrellas, canes, 
etc. He had, as he lay disabled on his bed, pro¬ 
jected a set of chess-men, which should supersede 
tlie uninteresting figures in general use, and give a 
martial air to a purely military game. Tlie effort, 
although at first painful, did him good and beguiled 
many hours of pain. He worked diligently, ani¬ 
mated by the hope which whispered, through silent 
toil, that if it did not sell in his lifetime, it would 
bring something to Alice and the children when he 
was dead. But, contrary to all expectation, he had 
recovered so far as to be able to leave his bed and 
go about the house on crutches. His work latterly 
had therefore progressed more rapidly, and on this 
wild March day he finished the task which had 
relieved the tedium of many weeks. The work, 
though long and often interrupted by severe 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


59 


attacks of pain, had to him been full of interest, 
and he began to view the little warriors, which 
represented the Christian and Saracen armies at 
the time of the Crusades, as they grew into shape 
under his maimed but still skillful fingers, with 
feelings almost of affection. 

Alice,^^ he said, as he placed the last completed 
piece in his wife’s hand—it was in a tone of re¬ 
gretful sadness that the task which had solaced so 
many weary and painful hours was brought to a 
perfect end—what do you think of my work, and 
do you believe that they will sell?” 

The work is beautiful,” she replied with real 
delight, as she contemplated the mail-clad king and 
brushed away some tears; ‘^but as to selling, I do 
not know. Perhaps their novelty may be in their 
favour; folks always grasp at something new. I 
hope, however, they will find fixvour; if they do 
not, I fear that we shall have harder times than 
ever; but we must continue to trust our heavenly 
Father. When Mrs. Murray sent this work I am 
sewing on, she told Margaret it was the last we 
could have from her for some time, as she was going 
abroad to stay for a whole year. I feel altogether 
discouraged; she has been my best customer, and 
now that her wmrk is withdrawn, if I cannot get 


60 


MARGARET GORDON, 


the same employment from others, I do not know 
what we shall do/’ 

James Gordon did not at once reply; but if any 
rebellious thought or feeling of distrust arose in his 
heart at the dark prospect which the failing to get 
employment would bring, it was only for a moment. 
The same sweet faith which he had been able to 
exercise in hours of helplessness and pain came to 
his aid ; the transient cloud passed from his brow ; 
his countenance was as briglit as it ever had been 
in his prosperous days, when he looked up into liis 
wife’s tearful face and prepared to answer: 

We can trust, Alice, as we have always done, 
God knows his own purposes, and it is enough for 
us to be assured that all our trials are of his ap¬ 
pointing, and believe that whatever his allotments 
may be, he will do what is wisest and best for us. 
Our way at present seems dark, but often help is 
sent by what seems the most unlikely means; the 
hearts of all are in his hand, and being able to turn 
them as the rivers of water are turned, he often 
suggests to do something for the needy. The life 
of every Christian abounds with gracious provi¬ 
dences, and there are few who cannot recall seasons 
when light is made to spring up out of darkness. 
Do not despond, Alice; we shall not be forsaken. 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


61 


God is ever faithful to liis promise, and he will not 
fail to send whatever he sees is needful for our 
good/^ 

He folded his hands reverently as he finished 
speaking, and looking upward said, “ Lord, thou 
art good and delightest thyself in doing good. 
Increase our faith, for whom have we to trust in 
but thyself?’^ 

Alice did not speak; her tears were flowing, but 
her heart responded to the prayer. 

Mother,^’ said Margaret, after a short silence, 
I forgot to tell you that I met Mrs. Chester yes¬ 
terday, and she said she had some work for us, 
which she would send in a day or two.^’ 

“ Mrs. Chester!’’ said Alice, brightening up; 
ah, yes, she is rich and liberal; perhaps she would 
like— 

She was interrupted by a knock at the front 
door. Margaret ran to open it, and their visitor, to 
their surprise, was no other than Mr. Berkley, their 
pastor, who soon explained the business which 
brought him out on such an inclement day. He 
had been at some distance in the country, for the 
purpose of assisting a brother clergyman who was 
out of health, and having to remain some days, had 
met several of the most influential men of the con- 


G2 


3IARGARET GORDON, 


gregation, who had inquired if he knew any one 
who was competent to take charge of a school. Old 
Mr. Jarvis, who had been the teacher there for 
many years, had died lately, and they wished his 
place filled as soon as possible. There had been 
many applicants, but they wanted one who, in ad¬ 
dition to being able to teach the common branches 
of education, was steady and pious—which Mr. 
Jarvis was not—and would take an interest in 
their Sabbath-school and the affairs of the church. 
There had been a general awakening a short time 
previous in the little community, and they were 
anxious that the good impression made upon the 
young people should not be lost, as it is the 
Sabbath-school which adds mainly to the increase 
of the church. I thought at once of you,^’ said 
Mr. Berkley, but feared you might have too much 
difficulty in the distance you would have to go. 
But that objection was soon removed. The school¬ 
master’s widow was anxious to rent the cottage, 
and it was so near both to the church and school- 
house that the walk could not be very fatiguing, 
even to a person on crutches. The salary is good, 
the community respectable—none very rich, but all 
substantial; there will be no trouble about pay¬ 
ment. I told them of Robert and Mary’s occupa- 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


63 


tions, as well as Mrs. Gordon’s, and licard in reply 
that they would find no want of employment. A 
good seamstress was sure to be kept busy by the 
farmers’ wives, who preferred to attend to their 
households and give out their sewing.” 

For a moment or two James Gordon was unable 
to speak. His heart was filled with gratitude to 
his heavenly Father for the unexpected providence 
which had opened this new path; the situation 
offered was a humble one, but with the salary 
certain, his family, aided by such work as they were 
prepared to perform, could in the country live in 
more comfort than they had done since his mis¬ 
fortune. At length he found words to express his 
thanks to his good pastor, and said that he would 
be glad to secure the place at once; it seemed the 
very best thing that could have happened him, and 
was doubtless sent in answer to his prayers. Light 
had indeed sprung up out of darkness; his faith 
had not been in vain. 

But why,” he added, did you venture out on 
such a day as this? It was risking your health.” 

I did not wish to put off coming, as there were 
so many applicants for the place,” was the reply; 
'^and besides, I believed I was doing my Master’s 
work in making this offer known to you, being as- 


MARGARET GORDON, 


C4 

sured that if you felt yourself able to accept it, 
you would be relieved at once from the heavy 
burden resting on you from your present diffi¬ 
culties/^ 

The comforting visit ended, the pastoral prayer 
uttered and the benediction pronounced, Mr. Berk¬ 
ley departed, once more to face the rude wind, but 
it was with a delight in his heart and peace of con¬ 
science which angels would approve and princes 
might envy. The wintry storm which he had 
braved in order to carry comfort to the destitute 
and sorrowing was not abated, but it was unheeded 
in the solemn but pleasant thoughts that filled his 
heart as he pursued his way homeward. It would 
have been hard to tell which was the ha})piest— 
himself or those to whom he had borne such cheer¬ 
ing in their adversity. Most likely himself, for 
all who work for God find great reward in his ser¬ 
vice, and he found it too in the thrilling sense of 
happiness he experienced as he recalled the words 
of our blessed Saviour: Inasmuch as ye have 
done it unto the least of these, ye have done it 
unto me.” 

There was joy too in the home of the Gordons. 
With thankful hearts they tried to realize the 
events of the day, which seemed more like a dream 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


65 


than reality. The evening eame and the table was 
set with their usual fare, a large loaf of brown 
Kread, a smaller one of white and a very little 
butter, with milk and water instead of tea. But 
the frugal meal was arranged with a regard to 
neatness which rendered its scantiness less appa¬ 
rent, and the grateful happiness with which their 
hearts were filled turned it, as they partook of it, 
into a feast. 

And now, Alice,’’ said James Gordon, I 
think we need never again doubt the goodness of 
God. See how unexpectedly a new way has been 
opened for us by that same guiding Hand which 
not only directs in the great and leading events of 
our individual concerns, but also in the common 
affairs of every-day life. Nothing is too great or 
loo insignificant for him to notice, and the affairs 
of him whom he has called to rule a kingdom, or 
those whose lot it is to pick up stones out of the 
road, are of equal moment in his sight. Ought 
we not, therefore, to be able to trust him for the 
future ?” 

I do not think I ever doubted,” said Alice, 
but with you so disabled, little work for me and 
the price of living so high, everything seemed 
so dark that I could not help being very anxious 

5 


66 


MARGARET GORDON. 


lest we should have to part with Margaret and 
Mary. But this unexpected proposal of going to 
the country—it all seems like a dream, our pros¬ 
pects are so changed since morning.’^ 

That they are so ought to teach us never to 
despond,’^ said her husband. “ And why should 
we? Are not the hairs of our head numbered, and 
is it not pleasant to know that He to whom all the 
riches of the earth belong cares for us, and will 
always give us what he sees will be good for us. 
All we need to make us happy is faith. Firm 
trust in God, faith in the Ijord Jesus Christ, can 
alone bear us up amidst the waves and billows of 
this troublesome world, but having this there is 
really nothing to fear.’^ 

The children, who had once made a visit of a 
day or two to a farmer’s wife, were delighted to 
hear that they were going to live in the country. 
Robert and Mary were in a perfect ecstasy when 
they were told that they could have a cow and pigs, 
and a garden w'here they might raise all kinds of 
vegetables. And chickens, father ?” asked Mary; 

can’t I have chickens, and then I can sell ever so 
many eggs ?” 

Yes, Mary, you can have as many chickens as 
you please,” was the reply; but if mother has the 


OB CAN I FORGIVEf 67 

cow and gives the pigs to Kobert, what is left for 
Margaret 

Margaret, the. mature, practical Margaret, was 
less demonstrative than the others, although the 
most active and most to be depended upon. She 
therefore said, quietly, that she should like to have 
a plot of ground where she could raise flowers, of 
which she was passionately fond. 

^^You will then have no need to make paper 
flowers,’^ said her father, laughingly, for I think 
we will give you the whole garden for your share 
of the work.^^ 

Much conversation of a pleasant and cheerful 
kind filled up the remainder of the evening, but 
we need .not detail it. The wind and sleet con¬ 
tinued to beat against the humble dwelling, but 
the cheerful radiance and warmth imparted by the 
firelight, as it flung their shadows on the wall 
while it brightened their faces, seeming to reflect 
the cheerfulness of their hearts, caused the raging 
winter without to be unheeded, and banished their 
late gloomy guest—Care. Renewed Hope lent her 
renovating influence, and in the anticipation of the 
new life upon which they were soon to enter some 
of them no doubt had golden dreams. They con¬ 
tinued to talk cheerfully and hopefully until the 


68 


MARGARET GORDON. 


usual hour for rest came; then joining their voices 
together, made the walls of their humble room 
echo with sweet melody as they s.ang the beautiful 
hymn, 

“ While Thee I seek, protecting power, 

Be ray vain wishes stilled,” etc. 

When it was finished they all knelt while the 
crippled father offered, in the fulness of his grati¬ 
tude, a heartfelt thanksgiving to God for the mer¬ 
cies vouchsafed on this day, as well as for the 
loving-kindness which had been bestowed upon his 
whole life; he also entreated that God would bestow 
a clean heart and renew a right spirit within those 
of his family who had not yet felt their need of a 
Saviour, and, that making it the chief endeavour of 
their whole lives to love and serve him, they might 
find the pearl of great price,’^ in exchange for 
which the wealth of the Indies is worthless. 



CHAPTER V. 

A NEW LIFE AND NEW FRIENDS. 

j T has been said that happiness is the best 
1 medicine, and its truth seemed to be veri- 
y' fied in the case of ‘ James Gordon, whose 
health improved so greatly after the prospect 
of brighter days had opened upon him as al¬ 
most to seem miraculous. Everything was soon 
in readiness for the removal. Mrs. Chester’s 
work was finished, and the pieces of wood¬ 
carving sold. But although pleased with the 
prospect of the new life before them, when the 
time came for leaving the old house, where they 
had at least found peace, if not joy, their glad an¬ 
ticipations could not prevent their feeling much 
regret at parting with their old landlady and the 
basket-maker, who had proved sincere friends in 
their advefsity. But the young love change, and 
the novelty of the journey to the children soon 
banished all their sadness. Their goods were 
piled up in a farmers wagon—for it was before the 
time of railroads—with a space left in front for 

69 




70 


MARGAUET GORDON, 


Alice and the children, and James Gordon rode on 
one of the horses. Mary and Robert were wild 
with delight when they found themselves perched 
upon the top of thej)eds; Mary thoughtlessly 
pointing out objects for Robert to look at, not re¬ 
collecting that he could not see, until he would 
answer in a tone something like one of sadness; 

Ah, Mary, I feel the air, as it blows around my 
head, very pleasant, but as to the houses and fields 
and people, you forget that I cannot see them. But 
I am very happy for all.^^ 

Margaret, less demonstrative, was, however, not 
less delighted; perhaps in the deep and quiet 
earnestness of her character she was more so. 
Although not yet a decided Christian, a strong 
religious feeling permeated her whole being, and 
her enjoyment was of too high a nature to be ex¬ 
pressed by words. She had never but once before 
been in the country, and as she rode along, the 
beautiful surroundings awoke a strong feeling of 
devotion, as it was well calculated to do, for was 
not all the work of God’s creative hand ? It was 
a bright morning, brilliant in beauty, warm and 
genial; there were sweet sounds of the songs of 
birds to be heard, the lowing of the browsing cattle, 
the murmurs of the soft spring breeze as it whis- 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


71 


pored through the branches, and tlie voices of merry 
children, who were playing at the roadside, enjoy¬ 
ing the luxury of busy idleness. All spoke of 
hope, energy and a loving, working obedience to an 
almighty AYill; and touched by the holy influence 
of all around her, it was not strange that feelings 
never before experienced by her—feelings responsive 
to the teaching of nature—rose up in her heart. 
And hers was a heart to rejoice in loving trust upon 
God, who was so good, and full of a humble devotion, 
which made her willing in all things to do the will 
of Him who by this last providence had shown 
that those who trust in him are never forsaken, but 
who, ever caring for his children, orders every event 
of their lives, and overrules for good even those that 
seem the most untoward. 

It was sunset when they came in sight of their 
new home—a cottage standing a little way back 
from the road, in the middle of a lot of some extent. 
Its appearance was by no means inviting, but now, 
when they were all hungry and tired, the prospect 
of rest was cheering, and they hailed it with a shout 
of joy. It looked somewhat bare and lonely; work 
from the hand of industry was nowhere visible; 
the garden-pales were broken down; no climbing 
rose bush or creeping vjne had been trained to 


72 MARGARET GORDON, 

cover the weather-stained walls and with their 
clustering flowers shed radiance and perfume. Its 
only ornament was a large pear tree, which, stand¬ 
ing alone at one corner, spread its long branches 
over the low roof, as if to protect it from the too 
rapid decay caused by neglect. Yet, notwithstanding 
the want of thrift and taste apparent everywhere, 
it was not unlovely, for the natural scenery around 
it was beautiful enough to atone for all defects. 
Broad meadows lay on the right; on the left, at 
some distance, rose a steep bank, at the foot of 
which was a road leading to the large town of 

C-, whilst far back in the rear and dimly seen 

in the distance the horizon was bounded by a range 
of hills, which seemed to enclose the whole like the 
framework of a picture. The view was very 
lovely in the mellow evening light, and although 
the trees were yet unleaved, the fields were clothed 
with the freshest green, and the grass and low 
shrubs which were the earliest to bloom sparkled 
in the glancing rays of the setting sun, and the soft 
evening wind, as it swept by, made music in ca¬ 
dences peculiarly its own. Yet you could not call it 
solitary, although no buildings were near except 
the quaint, old-fashioned house of their nearest 
neighbour, John Brown, which, with its stone 



OE CAN I FORGIVE? 


73 


chimneys and broad, open porch, stood half hidden 
by some large trees just across the lane which 
divided it from the little homestead now to be 
occupied by the Gordons. But, although seem¬ 
ingly shut out, they were near enough for the 
sounds always attendant on farm-life to be heard. 
The carter-boy’s whistle, the clatter of milk-pails, 
as the dairymaid proceeded in her task, and occa¬ 
sionally the neighing of a horse or the lowing of a 
cow, told of employment and bustle. But they 
were all hushed now, softened by that indescrib¬ 
able atmosphere of quietness which prepares the 
gentle evening for the deeper solemnity of night, 
and now touched the heart of Margaret Gordon 
with a feeling of seriousness never experienced 
before. 

As they drew nearer, they were surprised to see 
a volume of smoke issuing from the chimney, but 
it was- soon accounted for by the appearance of a 
tall, sunburnt, but pleasant-faced man, who was at 
once recognized by James Gordon as John Brown. 

Mrs. Jarvis left the key with me,’^ he said, 
two weeks ago, and my wife has aired the house 
more than once; but theavalls are very damp, and 
she thought you would not be the worse of a bit 
of fire; so I just made bold to kindle a spark of a 


74 


MAIiGARET GORDON, 


blaze, though I had no orders from you. The wood 
is your own, for when I went to Fanner Evans, 
who is making a large clearing, and asked him for 
some of the dead wood lying about, he said, ^ If it 
was for the new schoolmaster, I might take as 
much as I wanted,’ and the same evening he sent 
over a Avagon-load of his own accord. See, there it 
is; and I made our Ben cut a pile of it, just for 
you to begin with.” 

Wondering at such disinterested kindness—such 
as in their town-life they had never met with— 
they thanked their friendly neighbour, and enter¬ 
ing the cottage, which was better within than with¬ 
out, they found a bright fire blazing, which, diffus¬ 
ing a grateful warmth and shedding a ruddy glow, 
lighted up the empty room and seemed to give 
them a cheerful welcome to their new dwelling. 
In an incredibly short time the house was arranged 
so as to enable them to pass a comfortable night; 
and they were about to prepare Supper when John 
Brown, who had been assisting, stopped them by 
saying that his wife expected them to eat their 
evening meal with her, and that they must go 
home with him for this purpose. 

‘^She said it would be too hard if, after coming 
so far, you had to cook your own supper, when you 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


75 


had nothing fixed ; so just come along, for I know 
she is waiting.^^ 

Although astonished at this unexpected hospi¬ 
tality, they could not refuse an invitation given 
with a sincerity not to be mistaken, and they fol¬ 
lowed him to his house, at the door of which they 
were met by his wife—a motherly, serious-looking 
woman, whose countenance at once inspired confi¬ 
dence, for her.soft brown eyes were the index of a 
heart which, as far as can be said of any mortal, 
knew no guile. Her dress was of a most primi¬ 
tive fashion; her cotton gown wanted the sweeping 
length and fulness requisite for the present day; 
a checked handkerchief was folded over her shoul¬ 
ders and pinned down in front, and a cap, white as 
snow, with a quilled border in perfect order, fitted 
close around her pleased, placid face. She had 
never worn a jewel in her whole life, but her whole 
appearance indicated that she possessed the orna¬ 
ment of a meek and quiet spirit, which is of great 
price,’^ 

She greeted them kindly, and led the way into a 
room where a substantial meal awaited, to which 
our weary travellers did sufficient honour. 

The meal ended, John Brown and his wife, with 
one or two other neighbours, accomj^anied them to 


76 


MARGARET GORDON, 


the cottage, and helped to finish “the fixings, so 
as to make the place have a home-look in the 
morning.” 

At length all was finished, the “Good-night” 
was said, the guests departed and the Gordons 
were left alone in their new dwelling. The Bible 
was then opened, a chapter read, and they wor¬ 
shipped God in a hymn of thankfulness and praise, 
and then they knelt together in prayer. The words 
were those of grateful acknowledgment to the great 
Giver of all good for thus providing such a home 
for them, and concluded with an earnest entreaty 
that they might be kept humble and vigilant in 
the performance of all the duties of their new life; 
that grace might be given to enable them to walk 
consistently with their professions as Christians; 
and that in every event that should befal them 
they might be sustained by a trustful reliance on a 
covenant-keeping God, and be made willing to re¬ 
ceive the allotments of his providence as the very 
best that could happen them, acquiescing as calmly 
in joy as in sorrow. But most earnest of all was 
the petition that those of the family who had not 
yet discovered the things that belong to man^s ever¬ 
lasting peace might be awakened to a sense of the 
great responsibility resting on every one, and that 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


77 


they might be led to seek earnestly for that love, 
help and guidance which the Father of spirits 
alone can give, by which only they can hope to live 
rightly, to accomplish a warfare in which all must 
be engaged, and gain that victory whose reward is 
an unfading crown, which the Lord, the righteous 
Judge, will give in the great day of his appearing 
to all who love him/^ 

Sleep soon visited them—the sweet sleep which 
God gives to his beloved. It came like soft moon¬ 
light into the humble home of the Gordons, and 
under the shadow of its wings they rested sweetly, 
solaced with dreams of peace. 



CHAPTER VI. 

THE REALITIES AND THE DISCIPLINE OF DUTY. 


f HEN Margaret awoke, the cool, gray light 
of dawn was streaking the horizon, and she 
was half bewildered by the strange sounds, 
so different from those heard in a city, which met 
her ears. The crowing of cocks as they passed the 
reveille from farm to farm, the cackling of geese, 
lowing of cattle and squealing of pigs, the usual 
accompaniments of country-life, were loud enough 
to disturb her slumbers completely; and awaking 
Mary, they began the labours of the day by pre¬ 
paring the morning meal. Mary made the lire 
while Margaret went for water to the little spring 
which flowed quietly from beneath a rock in the 
corner of the meadow-lot. The water was pure 
and sweet, but as no channel had been made to 
confine it within due limits, instead of a little 
streamlet, which would have been an ornament to 
the garden, it presented a rather unsightly object. 

The unconfined water had spread itself over a large 
78 


CAN I FORGIVE? 


79 


surface of flat ground, which was soon transformed 
into a swamp, where docks and tall nettles grew in 
wild profusion, and a part of it, making its way 
farther, formed a dirty pool almost in front of the 
house. 

There will be plenty of work to do here,^^ said 
Margaret as she looked at the muddy space and 
brier-entangled garden; but it is a pretty place, 
although so dreadfully out of order. Our task is 
fairly before us, but what of that? Father has 
often said that God did not send us into the world 
to be idle, but has given to every one a work of 
some kind; and all we have to do is not to look 
after our neighbour’s work, but to keep our eyes 
fixed upon our own and labour at it cheerfully. 
And he said, too—and I know it is true—that 
work is no drudgery to one who has resolu¬ 
tion ; it is only a bugbear to the idle and the 
irresolute.” 

On returning to the house, she found little Ben 
Brown waiting at the door with a good-sized 
pitcher of milk, which his mother had sent them 
for their breakfast; for,” he added, she knows 
you have no cow.” Gladly accepting the proffered 
gift so thoughtfully bestowed, and wondering if all 
country-people were so kind, she soon had break- 


80 


MARGARET GORDON, 


fast ready, to which the milk proved a valuable 
addition. 

You were an early bird this morning, Marga¬ 
ret,’’ said James Gordon, and it is the early bird 
that catches the worm.” 

I thought I was very earlyreplied Margaret, 
but when I went out of doors I saw the smoke 
curling above the tree-tops, so I suppose everybody 
gets up early here. But I caught something better 
than a worm, for we all seem to enjoy this milk, 
which is better than any we ever had in all our 
lives. But, father, these are such kind people ! Is 
everybody in the country so good?” 

Oh no,” was the reply; “ human nature is the 
same everyw’here, but you will meet with more in¬ 
stances of disinterested kindness in country neigh¬ 
bourhoods than in large cities, where life is more 
artificial and every one seems to care only for 
themselves. But from what I have heard of the 
Browms, I think they would be the same in every 
place. Christianity with them is not a mere name; 
they practice the Bible precept, which says, ' Do 
unto others even as ye would they should do unto 
you.’ ” 

But, father,” cried Mary, sha’n’t we have a 
cow soon ? And then we need not trouble the 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


81 


neighbours. And if we have chickens, it will be 
so nice to gather eggs to sell.’’ 

But who is to milk the cow when we get her?” 
inquired her father. A little town-girl like you 
would most likely run away from a cow if she saw 
one approaching.” 

1 will milk, father,” said Margaret. I will go 
over to Mrs. Brown’s every day when the cows are 
to be milked and help her with her dairy-work, 
and so I shall have learned how to milk and man¬ 
age a cow by the time we get one.” 

Breakfast over and the morning exercises con¬ 
cluded, the different members of the family sepa¬ 
rated to pursue their several occupations. James 
Gordon took up his crutches and prepared to call 
on such of the trustees and patrons of the school 
as lived in his neighbourhood. Squire Green was, 
with the exception of John Brown, the nearest; 
and, being considered rich, was perhaps one of the 
most influential men in the little community. 
Nevertheless, he was not liked. He had risen from 
a low condition to his present station by lucky 
speculations,” rather than by the straightforward 
course of honesty; but such is the homage paid to 
wealth everywhere, his money, whether well or ill 
gotten, caused him to be regarded with a certain 


82 


MARGARET GORDON, 


degree of respect, which he never would have 
gained from his own individual excellence. Coarse, 
ignorant and grasping, he cared for nothing but 
money; but because other people thought edica- 
tion” a great matter, and perhaps feeling the want 
of it in himself, he took great interest in the school 
and patronized it zealously. But as to the pro¬ 
prieties of life, his perceptions were too obtuse to 
comprehend their meaning. Nevertheless, all the 
faculties of his mind were alive to the fact that 
farmin’ and stillin’ was a good, thrivin’ ” busi¬ 
ness; and having made more money than most of 
his better ^^edicated” neighbours, he assumed no 
small degree of importance, and looked down with 
contempt on those who were poor. 

Of the person and character of his wife we need 
not say much. Her greatest charm was a relative 
one, consisting in her adaptation to her husband in 
his appearance, habits and worldly concerns. In 
one respect only she differed from him: he was 
surly and domineering, she was good-natured and 
yielding; that is, so far as he was concerned, for 
she never opposed his wishes or objected to his 
plans, let him change them as he pleased. She 
at once showed a desire to be friendly with 
the schoolmaster’s family,” and often ran over to 


OR CAN I FORQIVEf 


83 


have a chat. “ They were poor people, to he sure, 
but it was so near, and in the country one does not 
mind such things muchand she gave Alice a 
good deal of work. Her manner was more patron¬ 
izing then than they liked, but they were prudent 
people, and avoided making remarks or repeating 
gossip which might be misrepresented or calculated 
to injure. Thus they were on friendly terms, but 
the friendship—if their intercourse could be called 
by such a name—was very different from that 
which subsisted between them and the Browns. 
The one was founded on a passing fancy or from 
motives of expediency; the other was a social bond 
formed between Christians, connecting the follow¬ 
ers of Christ with each other, uniting their powers 
of usefulness, and assisting, consoling and cheering 
each other, as embodied in the injunction, Bear ye 
one another’s burden, and so fulfil the law of love.” 
It was, therefore, a friendship based on too firm a 
foundation to change readily; and it never did 
change—it lasted through life. 

James Gordon returned from his expedition in 
good spirits and without much fatigue. did 

not walk even to Mr. Upton’s,” said he; neigh¬ 
bour Brown hitched up his wife’s carryall and 
took me all round; and I am to open school next 


84 


MARGARET GORDON. 


Monday with a larger number of pupils than I 
expected or could have hoped for. Let us thank 
God for his goodness.’^ 

It was a long time since they had seen him look¬ 
ing so happy; and as he glanced around and saw 
the improvement their busy hands had made in 
the rooms lately so bare and cheerless, he said 
something about the comfort of having such a 
home, and bade them read the lesson of trust the 
incidents of the last month were so well formed to 
teach. 

‘^It is not often that folks have their wishes 
granted as quickly as yours have been, Mary,” 
said her father; I have got you some hens and a 
pair of ducks, which will be here this evening, and 
two nice pigs for Robert. I think, with some as¬ 
sistance from us, he will soon learn how to attend 
them, and we shall see what store of eggs you will 
collect.” 

‘^Did you not get anything for Margaret?” 
asked Mary, as she noticed her sister’s disappoint¬ 
ed look. 

Nothing to-day,” was the reply, but our kind 
neighbour over the way, as I am no judge of cows, 
has promised to look out for a good one; and she 
will most likely be here by the time that Margaret 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


85 


has finished her apprenticeship in the art of milk¬ 
ing and butter-making.” 

They soon resumed their late routine of life, only 
they found they had more and harder work to do 
in the country than in town, but then they were 
less interrupted, and they had leisure to read as for¬ 
merly; for James Gordon did not consider it a 
waste of time to read such books as were likely to 
enlarge and improve the mind. Many persons 
think that they have no time to read,” he would say, 

but I never like to neglect one duty at the ex^ 
pense of another, and everything that tends to im¬ 
provement is a duty. It is an instinct to be proved 
by experience, rather than by rule, that every one 
makes time for what they like to do; and if im¬ 
portant duties are performed in due season and 
with regularity, none need be neglected for the sake 
of books.” 

But he was far more earnest in his endeavour to 
educate his children for a higher life in a world to 
come, and was very careful never to suffer an op¬ 
portunity to pass without saying something upon 
the subject he deemed of paramount importance, 
and calculated to deepen the religious principles 
which he had instilled at their earliest age, in 
order that these principles might take such firm 


86 MARGARET GORDON, 

root as would sustain them in the seasons of doubt 
and conflict and struggle which mark the life of every 
one. His mind was so well stored with scriptural 
truths that he had ever a word in season, a happy 
thought or cheerful suggestion, which associated 
themselves with the common events of every-day 
life, making the most of everything in regard to 
spiritual teaching, finding tongues in books, ser¬ 
mons in stones and good in everything.’^ 

One evening, after the labours of a busy day 
were closed, he spoke of the happy feeling which 
is experienced by those who have trust in God— 
the meek, heartfelt, loving resignation of a spirit 
obedient to a Father’s will, believing that every 
trial is sent for good, and that none are afflicted 
more than they can bear. \Ye have only to 
look back on our own circumstances a few weeks 
ago,” said he, “ and contrast them with our present 
comparative comfort. God sent help at a time 
when everything seemed darkest; and can we now 
ever doubt but that in all the trials we may yet 
have to encounter he will order everything aright, 
and give us ^strength according to our day,’ filling 
our hearts with heavenly love and enabling us in 
that to find our rest?” 

But, father,” said Margaret, it is very hard 


OB GAN I FORGIVE f 


87 


to have such faith. One must be j)erfect before 
they get so far as that. I am sure it is a lesson I 
shall never learn.’’ 

“ Never! It is a long time,” was the reply; 
‘^and there is no lesson taught in the Bible which is 
too hard for you to learn if you set about it in the 
right way. Do you not every day repeat the pe¬ 
tition, ^ Thy will be done,’ and yet attach no mean¬ 
ing to the words? Is it not a mockery to pray 
that you may submit in a right spirit to whatever 
God may decree, if you do not believe that it is 
possible for you to do so? No, Margaret; pray 
that the gift of strong faith may be granted to you ; 
and when you come to God to ask for his favour, 
let your supplication be made humbly and sin¬ 
cerely, with no hope of acceptance for your own 
sake, but resting solely on the merits and interces¬ 
sion of the Saviour, in whose name and for whose 
sake all prayer ought to be made. A day will 
come when you will find that the world is not an 
easy place to travel through; there is but one safe 
road to keep on in, as I know, from first to last, 
and that is to follow the footprints of the Lord 
himself. If you have the Saviour’s hand to guide 
you, you do not need anything else, for it upholds 
while it guides, and the same hand that upholds 


88 


MARGARET GORDON, 


and guides is able to bind up any wounds that 
may be received, even such as the possession of the 
whole world cannot cure. No happiness is stable 
which is founded upon what the allurements of the 
world promise: the truest happiness is found in 
the service of God, and doing our allotted work 
with ^n eye single to his glory. Have faith in 
him, my children, perfect trust in him through 
Christ, and he will make you happy in this life 
by the enjoyment of peace of conscience, and in 
heaven by possession of the inheritance promised 
to the just, even a crown of rejoicing, such as the 
apostle hoped for.’^ 

Do you not think, father,’’ asked Margaret, 

that we would all be happier if we knew before¬ 
hand what was to happen us? We need never 
then fret—and we were so troubled last winter— 
about anything, for we would know just what we 
ought to do and how things would turn out. And 
why is it that some are so rich and others so poor ? 
I have always wished for riches. I am sure all 
rich people are happy, for they can get everything 
they want, and have plenty to give to the poor, 
like that good Mrs. Chester whom we used to sew 
for in N- 

‘^To your first question,” said her father, 


OR CAN I FORGIVES 


89 


will answer that as God has seen good to shroud 
the future in darkness, it ought to be enough for us 
to recognize the mercy that leads us on daily, step 
by step, assured that whether for prosperity or 
adversity, our lot will be right, for all is of his 
appointing, and he will always do what is best for 
us. All we have to do is to follow the example 
of One holy, harmless and undefiled, separate from 
sinners and made higher than the heavens, and 
rely upon the assurance which he has given us that 
none who truly love God will ever be forsaken, for 
the very hairs of their heads are numbered. And 
suppose we knew our destiny, we could not change 
it; therefore let us be content to take what God 
sends, as being all for the best. What higher mo¬ 
tives can we have for action, or what surer support 
in affliction, than to follow him, to trust on him 
and to rejoice in being a partaker of his cross here, 
in the hopes of receiving the fulness of his joy 
hereafter.’^ 

But, father,’^ said Margaret, not yet convinced 
that wealth was not happiness, ‘Moes not God give 
people riches ? and if he does so it cannot be wrong 
to wish for them. I have often wondered that he 
made us so poor, and have wished so much that 
you were rich, for then we would be respected; for 


90 


MARGARET. GORDON, 


when I went to school in N-I noticed that the 

girls whose fathers were rich—and some of them 
were not nice girls at all—were praised and looked 
up to, while we that were poor were slighted.” 

That is the way of the world,” said her father; 
^^nevertheless we are not to question, but to submit 
to the decree of One whose wisdom is unerring. 
It is not every one who can be trusted with riches; 
and therefore it may have pleased God to make us 
poor, because he knew that the wealth you seem so 
much to desire would only prove a snare and 
temptation. But there is no reason, Margaret, 
why you may not be rich.” 

How, father?” asked the girl, eagerly. I am 
sure strahge things must take place before ice can 
get enough money to be called rich.” 

The gain of money is not the only nor the true 
Avealth,” was the answer. Fires may burn.it, 
floods may drown it, winds SAveep it aAvay, moth 
and rust corrupt it and robbers make it their prey. 
Men Aveary themselves and often peril their souls 
to gain it, and then die and leave it behind. The 
soul of the richest prince goes forth like that of the 
wayside beggar without a garment. But, my dear 
child, there is another kind of riches, Avhich is not 
kept in the purse, but in the heart. Those Avho 



OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


91 


possess them are not always, indeed, praised by 
men, but they have the praise of God. Have you 
forgotten what our Lord says, ‘How hardly shall 
they that have riches enter the kingdom of heaven!’ 
or the beautiful prayer found in the thirtieth chap¬ 
ter of Proverbs ? There is a certain kind of hom¬ 
age paid by the world to wealth, whether well or 
ill-gotten, but true respect is paid to character only, 
and it may be won by a person in any condition 
who is really faithful and high-principled, obeying 
the precepts and following the example of Him 
who although he was rich became poor that we 
through his poverty might be made rich. Strive, 
therefore, instead of wishing for the riches of the 
world, to merit this respect by conforming your 
life to the gospel rules, and you will have not only 
the good-will of your fellow-men, but the approba¬ 
tion of your own heart, which will be filled with a 
joy and peace independent of outward joy or sor¬ 
row—a deep, soulfelt satisfaction, the result of 
that obedience to the will of God to which we 
yield implicitly, believing that ‘ he doeth all 
things well.’ Strive ever to he good, and through¬ 
out life endeavour to do good to all. So, although 
you may always as now be poor in this world’s 
goods, you may be rich in faith and look forward 


92 MARGARET GORDON, 

to an inheritance in heaven and a crown which is 
incorruptible and never-fading/’ 

Margaret was silent; the felt that what her 
father had said was not mere words, for his life 
was a commentary on what he professed to believe. 
His prayers, spiritual and earnest, were as if he 
met his Maker face to face,” his daily walk like 
that of one intimate with Christ; but the doctrine 
of implicit faith he was endeavouring to inculcate 
appeared too hard to be received by the rebellious 
heart of childhood. She knew that he was right, 
but she was not just now ready to give up all. 
Her eyes were as yet holden” that she could not 
see, but a time was not far distant when they 
would be opened to the full discernment of the 
truth of all that her father had said; and those 
teachings, brought back by memory, were yet to 
prove way-marks to guide her on the rugged path 
she was ere long destined to pursue. 

If we have dwelt longer on these conversations 
than may have been agreeable to our young readers, 
and they think we have been too didactic, we must 
plead in excuse the value we attach to home teach¬ 
ing, deeming it of more importance than that de¬ 
rived from pursuit of science or rules of schools;, 
for, though they may teach of all created things, 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


93 


all is little when weighed in the balance against 
that which tells of the future destiny of immor¬ 
tal souls. There is a wide difference between 
knowledge and wisdom; the first, gained in 
schools or in intercourse with the world, improves 
the intellect; the latter, if gained in the school of 
Christ, educates the heart, making wise unto salva¬ 
tion. Religion is of itself an education, for it in¬ 
volves a certain amount of mental training, and it 
affords inducements and means for more. ^^Seek 
first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and 
all these things shall be added thereto,’^ says the holy 
Word; and it is in the home circle that a bias to 
such a search must be given. Much is said about 
education in the present day, and none can value 
the advantages it confers more than ourselves, but 
our own experience has shown us that the easiest, 
cheapest and most thorough education is in Christ’s 
school; for, as the entrance of God’s word gives 
light to all, bestowing understanding upon the 
simple, so even in this sense the fear of the Lord 
is the beginning of wisdom,” or, indeed, in other 
words, religion itself is an education. What we 
are is of infinitely more importance than what we 
know; and it ought to be the aim of all Chris¬ 
tian parents so to cultivate the heart and affections 


94 


MARGARET GORDON, 


that the growth of the Christian graces sliall at least 
keep pace with the enlargement of the understand¬ 
ing. And may we not also be forgiven when we tell 
the young how interesting it is for those far on in 
the journey of life, while looking back, to trace the 
words and seemingly trifling incidents which have 
left lasting effects upon the character. It makes the 
existence of every day more important, for who can 
avoid reflecting on the amount of good and evil for 
one’s self or others which may be involved in petty 
occurrences and passing observations—for God can 
sanctify the small as well as the great events of 
our lives—when experience has warned us of their 
consequences ? Train up a child in the way that 
he should go,” and a careful observer will in most 
cases be able to prophesy the bent of the whole life 
from the direction it takes during its early days. 
And is it not in the home circle and from the 
home teaching that those ideas are received and 
take such deep root that they at last become the 
fixed laws and motives of life? The impressions 
of childhood are deep and lasting: what care, then, 
is required to influence and form a child’s character, 
and engraft upon it principles that never can be 
shaken! Precept and example are more in those 
early days than teaching from books. Like the air 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


95 


they breathe, for the most part insensibl}^, children 
learn to think and observe from the moral atmos¬ 
phere by which they are surrounded; and it is 
pleasant to remark that in most cases the tendency 
of the young is to rise to the level of the purest 
minds with which they are brought in contact. 

Even,’^ says one, in the untaught heathen there 
is the wreck of a perfect nature, the appreciation 
of moral goodness: how much more, then, in the 
baptized, enlightened Christian And so it hap¬ 
pens that even occasional intercourse with persons 
thoroughly pure-minded and devoted, at an age 
when the character is forming, will often elevate 
the moral tone, and in the end counteract the evil 
of weeks, months and even years of more appar¬ 
ently direct influence. 

The moral atmosphere of the Gordons’ home and 
the scriptural teaching of the father being such as 
we have described, it is not wonderful that the 
character of the children should insensibly be 
moulded for their future by the example placed 
before them by their parents. Home w^as the 
sphere of their excellence; poverty placed no im¬ 
pediment to the happiness that reigned at their 
fireside, or interfered with the perfect order, regu¬ 
larity and quiet with which their domestic con- 


96 


MARGARET GORDON, 


cerns were conducted, and formed the basis of their 
contentment. Abroad they were only the ^Mame 
schoolmaster's family,^’ and considered as being too 
strict and methodistical. When these remarks were 
repeated to them they provoked no reply, nor for a 
moment interfered with the tranquil happiness of 
their lives. And they were happy, those Gordon 
children, blind boy and all. Too young to take 
thought for the future, the present—as they com¬ 
pared it with their late privations and discomfort— 
was everything to them, for with the hoping spirit 
of early life they never anticipated that clouds 
could overshadow them again. And although still 
poor, and constantly employed in homely and la¬ 
borious tasks, they were happy in their humble 
home, for here the fundamental principles of Chris¬ 
tianity were daily unfolded, not only in words but 
in daily practice. Then why should they not have 
been happy ? They read in the beautiful language 
found on the inspired page that a man’s life con- 
sisteth not in the abundance of the things that he 
possesses,” and learned also from the same source 
that “ those only are the truly rich who, in the sure 
confidence of childlike faith, can delight in the 
abundance of that peace” which is vouchsafed by 
infinite and untiring Love to those who devote 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


97 


themselves fully to his service, and proves an un¬ 
failing solace in circumstances when worldly wealth 
and homes are of no avail. 

The Gordons found their country life delightful, 
not only from its novelty, but from the simple and 
healthful pleasures they enjoyed in the discharge of 
the many new duties they were now called upon to 
perform. They wanted nothing better; and why 
should they ? for, as a late author has written, they 
had their parents, brothers, sisters, and a peaceful 
home; kind familiar faces, the sheep ' and cows 
in the meadows, the birds on the trees, the glad 
sunshine, the blue sky above their heads, and God, 
who lived in it; that was all, hut what a beautiful 

aiir 

Great was their delight when the pretty brown 
cow arrived. ‘‘Uncle John’’ Brown pronounced 
her excellent, and assured Margaret that she would 
pay her for all her trouble. This proved true, and 
after a time the reputation of the “ schoolmaster’s 
cow” was so great that several of their farming 
neighbours offered a large price for her, but her 
owner would not part with her. Margaret soon 
learned to manage her little dairy so as to turn it 
to profit. The butter she made was of excellent 
quality and brought a good price in the market of 
7 


98 


MARGARET GORDON, 


C-, and this, aided by the industry practiced 

by the others, added so much to their small means 
that in a short time they were able to replace 
their little capital which their sore distress in 

N- had obliged them to withdraw from the 

bank. 

Alice, in a short time, had plenty of sewing; 
Robert worked at baskets and mats; Mary plaited 
straw, which her mother made up into hats, which 
soon came into favour with the harvest-men and 
others. Margaret and JNIary went regularly to 
school, but yet found time to attend to home duties, 
and it was surprising what they accomplished. 
They were in an atmosphere of usefulness; not a 
moment was spent idly; they were happy in their 
occupations and duties, for they were their pleas¬ 
ures, and they had none of those trifling worries at 
home which are such common causes of annoyance 
in the domestic circle. Quiet, unobtrusive and 
industrious, they soon won the respect of the little 
community and had many visitors. Some might 
have been elated by such marks of favour as they 
received, and have been drawn aside from duty; 
but while they treated all with the courtesy ever 
due to good intentions, they also remembered the 
injunction found in Proverbs, which vsays, ^^Keep 




OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


99 


thy foot from thy neighbour’s house;” and thus, 
never overstepping the boundary prescribed by 
their position, they maintained the regard which 
might otherwise have been lessened by too much 
familiarity. 



CHAPTER VII. 


THE YOUNG GARDENERS, AND LIFE IN EARNEST. 

j fT is often surprising to see what can be accom- 
I plished by industry directed by willing hearts 
^ and busy hands; and the transformation of 
everything about the homestead of the Gordons, 
even in the first summer after their removal there, 
awoke the wonder how, in so short a time, they 
could accomplish so much. But we have often 
seen the fact exemplified that the more one has to 
do the more one learns how to .find time to do it 
in; and we believe, too, that nothing makes people 
happier than to have plenty to do and doing it 
with all their might. It has been said that the 
hardest manual labour is less fatiguing than habit¬ 
ual idleness—-just as rust corrodes and wears away 
the polished steel more quickly than constant rub¬ 
bing ; and our experience can bear witness that the 
remark is a true one. Margaret and Mary had a 
great deal to do ; but, notwithstanding Kitty Green 

and others told them th,at it was degrading to 
100 


CAN I FORGIVE? 


101 


make slaves of themselves by doing such an 
amount of out-door work, they were happy because 
they felt they were doing their duty. They rose 
with the sun, milked the cow and worked in the 
garden until breakfast, which their mother pre¬ 
pared, was ready, or learned their lessons for 
school. In some of the rougher tasks they had at 
first to be assisted by stronger hands: the garden 
had to be cleared from briers, a channel dug to 
confine the straying waters of the little spring, and, 
to gratify Margaret in her love for flowers, the 
little waste space in front of the house was enclosed 
by a rude paling and, dug up, was laid off in bor¬ 
ders. 

By the time a second summer came a complete 
transformation had taken place. The weather- 
stained walls were curtained with the twining 
branches of the honeysuckle, over which the hum¬ 
ming-birds flitted all day long, and the white cle¬ 
matis and travelleys joy,^^ as the children call it, 
flung their fairy flowers in reckless profusion on 
the green patches of grass or the borders below. 
The garden, instead of a mass of tangled briers, 
now showed a wealth of vegetables, which were 
sent to market; and, instead of the unsightly mud- 
hole formed in front of the house by the wandering 


102 


MARGARET GORDON, 


water of the spring, a little rill flowed through its 
channel into a pool at a short distance below, where 
Mary’s ducks swam and the cattle drank. N^othing 
could exceed the neatness and order of the whole; 
it showed the bent of mind of those who dwelt 
within the lowly home, and the character of the 
entire small territory was that of complete cultiva¬ 
tion, denoting thrift and comfort in the highest 
degree. Nor were the arrangements of the interior 
of the cottage less perfect than the pastoral beauty 
of its surroundings which w’e have tried to describe. 
Alice Gordon was a perfect contrast to Mrs. Green, 
and her household rule ditfered from that of-her 
neighbour accordingly. One was an active and 
bustling ruler; gentleness and serenity were the 
prevailing qualities of the disposition of the other, 
and, although always practicing the most persever¬ 
ing industry, she allowed the stream of life quietly 
to murmur by in her contentment. There was no 
waste, no extravagance, no carelessness under her 
mild domestic dominion, but her arrangements 
were all noiseless in their regularity and proceeded 
in the spirit of peace. 

She had a sister in Philadelphia, the wife of a 
worthy mechanic, with whom a constant communi¬ 
cation was had through John Brown, who was 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


103 


altogether a market-gardener, and mostly carried 
his produce to the city, on account of its bringing 

a better price tlian in the market of C-. 

James Gordon still continued his wood-carving in 
the long winter evenings or in spare hours, and 
when a lot of articles was finished, Uncle John’^ 
carried them to his brother-in-law, who disposed 
of them readily. 

Mrs. Maxwell, knowing how fond Margaret was 
of flowers, had sent quite a large package of choice 
seeds and cuttings, which she cultivated most care¬ 
fully, and found herself well repaid. She had 
never thought of turning her flowers to profit until 
one day a neighbour, who came on a visit, went 
out to see the garden, and was loud in praise of 
those beautiful children of the earth, then in their 
highest bloom. I wonder that you do not make 
them up into bouquets and sell them; they are 
mostly rare flowers and will bring a good price.’^ 
Margaret at once acted on the suggestion, and found 
the task both pleasant and profitable. 

Weeks, months and even years passed, and life 
flowed on in one calm, unbroken current, undis¬ 
turbed except by one event, which was, however, 
soon settled. ‘ It was an offer from old Mrs. Jarvis 
that James Gordon should buy the cottage, which 



104 


MARGARET GORDONy 


she was obliged to sell. Squire Green/’ her son- 
in-law said,would like to have the little place, 
but he had always been a bad neighbour, and Mrs. 
Jarvis disliked him too much to wish to have any 
dealings with him. But it must be sold, and as 
you have expended so much industry upon it, it is 
right to make you the first offer.” James Gordon 
hesitated; he could not bear the idea of going in 
debt. There was, however, in this case no alterna¬ 
tive; he must either buy the cottage or remove 
elsewhere. But where was that elsewhere? Not 
in the near neighbourhood, and, crippled as he 
was, he could not walk to any great distance. The 
family industry, aided by frugality and good man¬ 
agement, had brought comparative prosperity. He 
counted their savings, and found that he could 
make the first payment: by the time the second 
was due it could be met by the same means— 
namely, his salary and the proceeds of the family 
efforts. There was nothing to be dreaded but a 
failure of health; and so, with the advice of his 
two trusty friends, Mr. Upton, his pastor, and 
John Brown, he became, instead of tenant, owner 
of the little homestead. And may he not be par¬ 
doned if he surveyed it, his own,” with a feeling 
of great satisfaction; for would it not be a permanent 


OR CAN I FORGTVEf 


105 


home for his family if he should be called away by 
death ? And as he had no fear of having incurred 
a debt which he did not know how he was to pay, 
he gave way to the pleasant feeling of ownership, 
mingled, however, with an ever-abiding sense of 
the mercy which had followed him all his life, and 
the goodness which had cast the lines in such 
pleasant places. 

Thus time rolled on, each day freighted with its 
own mission, bringing few marked changes, but all 
things working silently toward the allotted trial 
of each, even as from the hour of our birth “ the 
imperceptible progress of decay is leading us for¬ 
ward to the final hour of death.” 



CHAPTER VIII. 


DIFFICULT DUTIES AND DARK CLOUDS. 

f E must now resume the thread of our narra¬ 
tive, which ,was interrupted at the close of 
the first chapter in order to introduce the 
schoolmaster’s family more closely to our readers 
and give them a full insight into the home-training 
as practiced there. The education bestowed in 
that home circle differed greatly from that received 
in schools. The cultivation of the Christian graces 
as enjoined in the holy A\^ord was carefully and 
constantly attended to, and the seeds of truth sown 
in the dawning mind were such as would germi¬ 
nate and flourish throughout life, bring forth fruit 
and draw down upon them the benediction of God 
—that blessing promised to those who walk in the 
ways of truth, which alone maketh rich and add- 
eth no sorrow. 

When Margaret Gordon determined to conquer 
self and pursue the course of conduct advised by 

her father toward her faithless friend, she was well 
106 


CAN I FORGIVE? 


107 


aware of the difficult duty she had to perform. 
We have already told our readers that her temper 
was quick ; and, sensitive almost to morbidness, 
with a full share of natural pride, she shrank 
from the reproach of being mean-spirited’^ which 
she was sure of meeting from her companions, who 
could not appreciate the motives by which her 
inner life, was regulated. The affair of the 
blotted copy-book had been largely discussed in 
the school circle; and, as Kitty Green was by no 
means a favourite with the girls, they were all 
anxious and urgent with Margaret that her base 
conduct should be resented, as it deserved, by 
avoidance and contempt. Such urgings, aided by 
her natural inclinations against the law of love,” 
which teaches gentleness and forbearance, made the 
task of meeting her in a Christian spirit a most 
difficult one; but, watchful and prudent, careful 
of what she said, but, above all, with the aid of 
Him without whom all efforts are vain, she w^as 
enabled to conquer the promptings of an uncon¬ 
verted heart and obey the command which bids. 
Avenge not yourselves, but' rather give place 
unto wrath;” in this following the example of Him 
•who, when reviled, reviled not again.” 

She had greatly dreaded the first meeting with 


108 MARGARET GORDON, 

the friend she had loved so well and found so 
treacherous, whilst her resentment was still at 
glowing heat, but she was spared the trial, for she 
learned almost immediately that Kitty had left 
home, a day or two after the examination, to spend 
the whole vacation abroad. Keeping closely at 
home and avoiding all opportunity for gossip, 
which always adds fuel to flame already kindled, 
the first acuteness of her sense of wrong gradually 
abated, and she rose superior to the temptation of 
taking her own part,” and resolutely forbore to 
speak on the subject. It cost, however, a great 
effort; and the victory was not obtained without 
frequent supplications at a throne of grace, from 
which, when approached in sincerity, no one is 
ever turned away unheard. Her prayers were the 
outpourings of an earnest, loving and humble 
heart, which, conscious of its own weakness, 
brought all its troubles and sorrows to One whose 
compassions fail not, believing that, although her 
prayer might not be granted according to her wish, 
it would certainly be answered according to her 
need. There is always comfort in prayer, as Mar¬ 
garet experienced. The sharp pang occasioned by 
her mortifying failure, and knowledge of its cause*, 
subsided into softer feelings than she could have 


OB CAN £ FORGIVEf 


109 


readily believed; and, trusting, as her father had 
said, that all things should work together for 
good,’’ before the vacation was ended she felt her¬ 
self quite ready to forgive. 

There are periods in the lives of all when events, 
seemingly trifling in themselves, occur which, 
never forgbtteiij affect the whole history of after¬ 
life, while days fraught with the most important 
consequences often open^ pass and close without 
leaving anything to mark them as different from 
others. Margaret’s trouble, compared with what 
she was yet to meet with in the course of life’s dis¬ 
cipline, was seemingly trifling, as it was .only a 
childish difficulty; but it was important to her, 
for its influence was most salutary. It is very 
good for us all occasionally to have our habits 
broken in upon, and be obliged to look upon life 
under a new aspect, for then the glance turned in¬ 
ward enables us not only better to see what we are 
ourselves, but to recognize that in every period of 
life care and trouble is the lot of all—the fulfll- 
ment of the sentence pronounced on our first pa¬ 
rents, and from which there is no escape. God, 
who ‘^sees not as man sees,” and views the sins 
and passions which lie dormant and unsuspected 
in the heart, and which must be extinguished and 


110 


MARGARET GORDON, 


destroyed before any one can be fitted for the 
kingdom of his holiness, has ordained a warfare 
which must be endured before a regenerate nature 
can fully triumph over the temptations pf Satan; 
and those whom he loves are often the most se¬ 
verely tried. Happy are they who, like Margaret 
Gordon, are called to exercise self-dismpline in 
youth, if they, armed with the shiei'd of faith, pre¬ 
pare for the battle which every one must meet in 
life, strong in the faith of heavenly protection, for 
they are safe; hut there are many who are harassed 
by thoughts of the responsibilities of existence and 
its final destination, who have no such safeguard. 
Such may well be prayed for, for their peril is 
great. Margaret learned early to think, but girls 
of fifteen and sixteen are deeper thinkers and have 
much quicker perceptions than the world gives 
them credit for; and there is, perhaps, no age at 
which the formation of the mind from common 
circumstances goes on so rapidly as in the space 
between the years of fifteen and eighteen; and a 
careful observer would in many cases be able to 
prophesy the bent of the whole life from the direc¬ 
tion it then takes. The ideas which are then col¬ 
lected are pondered upon, remodelled and engrafted 
in the mind—imbibed insensibly, indeed, like the 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


111 


air they breathe—become their own property, in¬ 
fluence and educate, teaching the exercise of the 
powers of thought and observation. This was 
true in regard to the schoolmaster’s daughter. 
The trifling incident' we have related, but more 
the pain she had suffered from the treacherous be¬ 
haviour of the friend she had loved and trusted, 
had been a sore trial, and the painful experience it 
had brought left a lasting effect upon her charac¬ 
ter. In the end, however, it proved a blessing; 
for, breaking in upon the confidence of childhood, 
which believes what it hopes for, anticipating no 
change, it proved a salutary lesson. She now 
learned to think and observe things as they were, 
rather than as they seemed, and to discover that 
life is a serious matter, given for important pur¬ 
poses and involving great responsibilities. No 
one can live with persons thoroughly pure-minded 
and devoted without having the whole moral tone 
elevated; and with the example and advice of 
Christian parents constantly before her, it was not 
wonderful that, always thoughtful beyond her 
years, Margaret should see things ir^ the same 
light and fix her affections upon the same objects; 
and, religion being of paramount importance with 
them, it became a subject of great importance to 


112 


MARGARET GORDON, 


her, and her young heart began to awake from tlie 
dreams of earth and prepare for the warfare of 
eternity. She was religious; that is, she was con¬ 
sistent and conscientious, and most careful that her 
daily life should agree with the principles by 
which she professed to be governed. But as yet 
her religion had not enabled her to comprehend 
the full meaning of those wonderful words which 
tell of that eternal counsel of the Most High, by 
which the children of his adoption, the redeemed 
and the forgiven, are gathered together in one 
body under Christ their Head, and made to be the 
fulness of him that filleth all,^^ for its motive was 
duty, not love—that love which is the fruit of the 
Spirit and the perfection of religion. But the 
mighty change which is effected only by the opera¬ 
tion of the Spirit of grace, without which, the 
Scriptures declare ^^none can see the kingdom of 
God,’’ began in her heart; but its development 
was not rapid. She had much to contend with in 
her quick temper and natural pride, and many 
hard struggles and battles with self had to be en¬ 
countered before she experienced that peace which 
passeth all understanding, and, found only in the 
service of God, is the privilege of his children to 
enjoy. 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


113 


The i?chool once more began, bnt, owing to some 
pressing domestic duties, Margaret could not go for 
a few days; and great was her surprise on going to 
her seat to find INIartha Harding in Kitty Green’s 
place. She was greatly pained by this demonstra¬ 
tion, but her trouble was by no means lessened by 
the change in Kitty’s manner, which was marked 
by a visible constraint and avoidance of every op¬ 
portunity of intercourse, for she felt that Margaret’s 
presence was a steady although silent reproach; 
and, as in many other cases, from the time she had 
injured her she had become her enemy. This con¬ 
duct Margaret was not slow to observe; but she 
was able to bear the feelings it was calculated to 
l^rovoke in silence, for the example of One whom 
she was now learning to serve taught her how to 
suffer and to bear, how to rule her spirit and bring 
it into subjection to the law of God. But which 
of the two was the happier?—Margaret, in her pain¬ 
ful and continual struggle with self, or Kitty, in 
yielding to the dominion of a sinful heart, by 
which, in giving way to the exercise of sinful pas¬ 
sions, she endeavoured to cause unhappiness to one 
she had already injured, but more effectually suc¬ 
ceeded in disturbing her own peace ? Conscience is 
a mighty monitor, appointed by God himself to 
8 


114 


MARGARET GORDON, 


speak to the hearts of all, and never fails to ad¬ 
monish against the doing of an evil deed, thinking 
of an evil thought or the speaking of an evil word ; 
and so, although by no means penitent or having 
the least intention of acknowledging her fault, she 
felt herself altogether uncomfortable. No one can 
transgress the law of God with impunity; and, pain¬ 
fully conscious of the injury she had done, she 
could not meet one who had ever been her friend 
without a feeling of shame, and although she 
viewed her conduct in a less reprehensible light 
than most would have done, she imagined that she 
saw a change in her school-companions, and that 
in every whispering among them she was being 
blamed. She was not ashamed of what she had 
done, but she dreaded losing the respect of her 
schoolmates; caring more for the contempt of mor¬ 
tals like herself than the displeasure of God. She 
had never, indeed, been taught, like Margaret, tliat 
the evil deed, or thought or work, although for¬ 
given, must yet remain recorded in the awful book 
of remembrance, and will appear as witness against 
us on the day when we stand before the judgment- 
seat to answer for the deeds done in the body; but 
although she thought little of the divine law she 
had broken, there was a tormenting thorn in her 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


115 


side which forbade enjoyment. Poor Kitty! When 
she committed the act which gave her a temporary 
advantage and a short space for triumph over her 
mortified companion, she little thought what bitter 
hours she was storing up for herself. The way of 
the transgressor is hard; she felt the want of her 
former pleasant intercourse with Margaret; and al¬ 
though still surrounded by all in which she had 
hitherto been happy, and no word of reproach or 
hint that her base act had been witnessed had 
been spoken, she was, even when she seemed gay¬ 
est, oppressed with a cloud of miserable feelings 
arising from the gnawings of conscience; and there 
were times when she-would have been glad could 
she have exchanged her unfair victory for the de¬ 
feat she had caused to another, and the dread of 
which had made her sin, 

Margaret had much to suffer, not only from her 
own wounded feelings, but also from the remarks 
of her companions on Kitty’s changed behaviour, 
and the time was not long passed when she would 
have resented it. But she had latterly learned bet¬ 
ter to understand her own heart and feel how great 
was her own need of forgiveness; for how often had 
she forgotten her duty to God and strayed from the 
way in which he had allotted those who wished to 


116 


MARGARET GORDON, 


be his children to walk. And the spirit of forgive¬ 
ness took the place of the spirit of wrath, but the 
conquest was not easily‘gained, nor without aid 
from a higher source than that of .her own resolu¬ 
tion. “ Seventy times seven,’^ she repeated often to 
herself, and then she entreated that a right spirit^’ 
might be granted her; and God, who is always 
more ready to hear than man is to ask, in the abun¬ 
dance of his mercy listened to the petition made in 
the name and for the sake of the Saviour, and be¬ 
stowed the blessing she asked for. ^‘It must be 
for the best,” she said to herself, although her heart 
was pained by this demonstration on the part of 
Kitty, so uncalled for, so undeserved; but she 
would not suffer her mind to dwell upon the pain¬ 
ful subject. Other duties were before her—all- 
absorbing duties: her late failure must be made 
up, the good opinion necessary to ensure her suc¬ 
cess as a scholar to be regained, and for this great 
diligence was necessary. 

She was by no means dissatisfied with the change 
which made Martha Harding her desk-companion. 
Amiable, truthful, upright, of most honest purpose 
and beloved by all, she was the one to whom, had 
she been allowed to choose, she would have given 
the preference above all the rest—one whom Mar- 


OB CAN I FORGIVEf 


117 


garet and everybody else liked. She was the 
daughter of a farmer who lived quite near to the 
schoolmaster’s cottage, and although his family, for 
the most part, held themselves aloof from society, 
they were on friendly terms with the Gordons. 
Mr. Harding, a man of excellent character, upright 
and just in his dealings with every one, was the 
last representative of a large and old family, who 
had come over in the early days of the colony, and 
owned an immense tract of land in that neighbour¬ 
hood. But many generations had come and gone 
in the lapse of time, like the leaves that bud in 
spring and fall withered in autumn, until only one 
solitary branch of the family tree remained, and the 
once, wide possessions had dwindled down to a 
common-sized farm. And even this, it was whis¬ 
pered, was heavily encumbered, and Squire Green, 
who spared no one, often loudly declared that it 
would not be long until it was brought under the 
hammer. Most folks thought the Hardings proud 
because they went abroad but seldom, but they made 
no pretension to be better than their neighbours, but 
behaved to every one with courtesy and respect. 
Mrs. Harding had brought Alice a good deal of 
work, and as they thus became acquainted they 
learned to esteem each other. Poverty is said to 


118 


MARGARET GORDON, 


be the touchstone of worth, and in this case it 
proved so; for, as they lived near, the intercourse, 
at first that of business only, grew into a lasting 
friendship, of which the Greens were not a little 
jealous. But the Gordons were careful not to pro¬ 
voke enmity, and avoided giving offence to any, 
either by undue familiarity or too much distance, 
and thus, by their consistent course, secured the 
respect of all who knew them. Martha was a good 
and honest-hearted girl, firm in principle and ener¬ 
getic in action, but she had not, as she said, love 
for books and had a horror of literature, and often 
laughmgly declared that she would rather milk 
cows all day than keep a school, and that feeding, 
pigs, in her opinion, was preferable to sewing, 
which she abhorred. Notwithstanding these asser¬ 
tions, she was by no means coarse or vulgar; she 
was a pretty fair scholar, although she did not love 
books, but considerate and thoughtful, and emi¬ 
nently practical, usefulness was what she was in¬ 
tended for in life, evidently; her quickness in work 
to be done by the hand and her quiet, domestic 
tastes all tended that way. She could never, she 
said, expect to make a sensation by her cleverness, 
so she must content herself by trying to be useful. 

There had been a great deal of good done in the 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


119 


little community under Mr. Upton’s ministry, who, 
hardworking and devoted, spared no pains in the 
discharge of his sacred duties. He was not fault¬ 
less, and often met with opposition to his measures; 
sometimes, too, he was a little impatient, which 
provoked censure; but he was earnest, sincerely 
earnest, in thought, word and action ; and it is true, 
as one has remarked, that when all other powers 
have been tried and failed, it will be found that 
‘^earnestness is the fulcrum upon which to rest the 
moral lever which is to raise the world.” At the 
time of which we write Sabbath-schools were not 
common, as they are now, and although they had 
been established in cities or large towns, they were 
by no means generally known; and, therefore, as 
very few persons had ever heard of such institu¬ 
tions, the minds of the people belonging to that 
rustic congregation were by no means prepared to 
enter into the Sunday-school plan with the ardour 
expected by Mr. Upton. But the earnestness which 
formed so large a part of his character was not to 
be baffled; aware that much opposition existed— 
for they were an old-fashioned people, and had set 
notions which were hard to be removed—he strove 
to conquer it by gentle means rather than forcible 
argument. He answered their objections patiently. 


120 


MARGARET GORDON, 


endeavoured to remove their prejudices by gentle 
reasoning, and, unwearied in efforts to bring about 
what he so much desired by kind deportment and 
the affectionate interest in their welfare, he at last 
succeeded in gaining over some of the most deter¬ 
mined opponents to accede to his proposal so far 
as to consent that notice from the pulpit should be 
given requesting a meeting. The notice was given, 
accompanied with his own views on the subject 
and a short history of the institution, and an urgent 
appeal was made to the parents upon the import¬ 
ance of securing for thair children this opportunity 
for religious instruction. 

It w'as the custom in those country churches to 
liave two sermons, with a short interval between 
them; and now, during the intermission between 
the morning and afternoon services, the new pro¬ 
ject was the main subject of conversation among 
the various groups assembled there. We cannot 
detain our readers to listen to the earnest discus¬ 
sions had among them; some of the objections, 
however, were as follows: One had not much 
opinion of Bible learning, but would rather that 
his children would not hear much on those subjects 
till they were able to judge for themselves and 
choose their own creed. Another had been told 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


121 


that it was to be a charity school, and he wanted 
no charity; he was willing and able to pay for all 
the learning his children could get on week-days 
without having them schooled for nothing on Sun¬ 
days. Squire Green was loud in his opposition. 

Mr. Upton,’’ he said, need not come to him 
with any of his new-fangled notions; if he did, he 
would give him a piece of his mind; why, it was 
the most onreasonablest thing he ever heard of, ex¬ 
pecting rich people’s children to teach school on 
Sundays.” 

Children, however, generally have much influ¬ 
ence ill such matters. The Sunday-school was as 
largely discussed among them as it was among 
their elders, and, as the young love novelty, they 
were all desirous to go to Sunda^^-school. They 
thus were of material aid to Mr. Upton in his en¬ 
deavour to conquer the prejudices of the parents; 
and the school was commenced at first with few 
scholars, but in a short time it grew into such fa¬ 
vour with the whole community that the school- 
Jiouse—their first place of meeting—had to be ex¬ 
changed for the church. Such was the state of 
things when the schoolmaster’s family came among 
them. James Gordon was soon chosen superin¬ 
tendent, and proved most faithful, co-operating 


122 


MARGARET GORDON, 


with the pastor. He became as popular and as 
much beloved in his Sunday teaching as he was in 
his week-day, for, gentle, impartial and always 
ready with the word- in season,’^ he gained the 
hearts of all. Even Squire Green, rough and 
pompous as he was, could not quarrel with him, 
as he did with everybody else, but was obliged to 
treat the lame schoolmaster,’’ as he always termed 
him, with involuntary respect. His consistent 
course and Christian life was an example for all, 
and the good he did, as well as that which by his 
precepts and counsel he enabled others to do, will 
never be fully known until that day when the 
^Csecrets of many hearts are revealed.” 

Sabbath-schools were in those days differently 
conducted from what they are at present, and per¬ 
haps the advantages were small compared to those 
of Sabbath-schools in the present day. Books and 
tickets were then given as rewards, but are now 
universally relinquished. It may be for a better 
rule, but certainly one great benefit derived from 
that system of teaching was learning to repeat 
large portions of the sacred Scriptures. These 
were lodged in the memory, to be the subject of 
future thought and reflection; and so permanent 
has been the benefit received from early commit- 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


123 


ting so much of the Scriptures that many aged per¬ 
sons can repeat whole chapters learned at Sabbath- 
school without the least prompting. 

The schoolmaster’s children had been scholars 
in the school until the year to which our story be¬ 
longs, when Margaret was called on to become a 
teacher, to which request she with much diffidence 
consented. Her father had so often spoken of the 
responsibility of a Sabbath-school teacher, and how 
careful such should be that while endeavouring to 
persuade others to their duty they should also be 
solicitous for themselves. How could a teacher 
of others expect the blessing of God upon his 
efforts if he was not anxious for his own eternal 
welfare ? And was there not danger lest, if, even 
through the means of such an one. His mercy 
should benefit others, the one who had been made 
the instrument of that mercy should become a cast¬ 
away? Margaret’s awakening to a sense of the 
one great responsibility of life had been slow, but 
latterly the development had become more rapid. 
She clearly discerned that a missionary spirit was 
necessary to discharge the duties of a Sabbath- 
schopl teacher properly, and so it was that she re¬ 
luctantly consented to take an employment which 
required intelligence, zeal, patience and every other 


124 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Christian grace, and to which she felt herself in¬ 
competent. But the very knowledge of this incom¬ 
petency led her to greater earnestness in seeking 
salvation, although as yet she made no profession. 
She had had a pleasant class assigned her, in whom 
she took great interest, and, through her father^s 
instructions, taught them more in accordance with 
tlie mode of the present day than that of the time 
of which we write. James Gordon had an excel¬ 
lent Commentary, which Margaret studied care¬ 
fully, and thus was able to explain the Bible 
lessons which they committed to memory so as to 
enlighten them as to their true meaning; and she 
not only found pleasure in the task as regarded 
others, but it proved very profitable to herself. 

This pleasant work was, however, soon inter¬ 
rupted. She might, in the love of her Sabbath- 
school pupils and the approbation of their parents— 
both of which she had—have become vain-glorious 
and forgetful of Him to whom alone all homage 
belongs, had she not in the solemn providence of 
God been called to the performance of another 
duty, which not only demanded an exercise of that 
quiet spirit of self-sacrifice, but of patience and for¬ 
bearance, which in after life were the ruling fea¬ 
tures of her character. One Sunday morning she 


OR CAN I FORGH^f 


125 


had gone to the church at an earlier hour tlian 
usual. A few of the scholars were there, but not one 
of hers. She seated herself in the old-fashioned 
square pew to wait their coming, and, as she had 
leisure to look around, she saw six or seven colour¬ 
ed girls standing in a group near the door, looking 
anxiously at every one who entered. Margaret 
wondered what their being there meant. She had 
not, however, much time to think about it; her 
class soon assembled, the preliminary exercises 
were had, and she became so absorbed in her duty 
of teaching that she was quite startled by Mr. Up¬ 
ton’s voice mentioning her name. He came to 
make a particular request of her, which was that 
she should give up her present class, for whom 
there would be no difficulty in procuring a teacher, 
and take- those poor coloured girls, whom no one 
was willing to teach. 

I have tried every one,” he said, and have 
come to you at last. Would you have those poor 
girls sent away ? Is there no one to care for the 
souls of those for whom Christ, too, hath died? 
If a true missionary spirit exists among us, can it 
be exercised better than in teaching those who 
have no other means of instruction, and have come 
up voluntarily to be instructed in the right way ?” 


126 


MARGARET QORRON, 


Margaret hesitated; she, too, had her prejudices, 
and her natural pride revolted from undertaking a 
task which had been so decidedly refused by all 
the others. A deep blush overspread her features, 
and she was about to utter a negative, but, as she 
raised her eyes, her glance fell upon her father^s 
face, which, as he stood near the humble group, 
beamed with an expression which could not be 
mistaken, and she read the thoughts that were 
passing in his mind. There was a look of entreaty, 
too, in those sable faces. Kepresentatives of a 
stricken and down-trodden race, their claims 
might be rejected by those to whom their subjec¬ 
tion was given ; but was there not an assurance 
that Ethiopia, too, should stretch out her hands 
unto God and that, since God hath made of 
one blood all nations of men,^’ the blessing of re¬ 
demption, through the All-atoning sacrifice, should 
be extended to every kindred and tongue and 
people and nation ? As she gazed upon the sup¬ 
pliants, these truths flashed over her mind. The 
intended denial was not uttered: an assent, not 
altogether a cordial one, was given, and the dark- 
hued children of bondage took the place of those 
whom she had so loved to teach. She gave them up 
with regret, and commenced her. new task, satisfied 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


127 


but not glad. She undertook it from a sense of 
duty only, and she feared that want of earnestness 
of purpose and interest in the work would cause 
her to fail in its discharge. She had yet to learn 
that warmth and love are the rewards of duty. 
Her religious life was unfolding slowly; she had 
to pass through a severer discipline before its 
growth was perfected. But the foundation of her 
character was true. Her disposition was grafted 
upon candour and honesty of purpose, and, consci¬ 
entious and thoughtful, it was her constant effort 
that her daily life should agree with the principles 
by which she professed to be governed; and there¬ 
fore there was more • than hope—there was cer¬ 
tainty of improvement. She found her task not as 
difficult as she expected, for, instead of stupidity 
and dulness, she found docility and anxiety to 
learn; and the two eldest of the class were more 
than ordinarily bright. But the germs of a future 
harvest must be planted ere a reward can be 
reaped, many slow and wearisome steps must be 
taken before the goal is won; and all who would 
gain the victory which is promised to the followers 
of the Saviour must contend firmly and patiently 
with their own weaknesses, prejudices and pas¬ 
sions. Margaret Gordon did so, and found her 


128 


MAUGARET GORDON, 


reward, and had afterward reason to rejoice that 
she had undertaken the task, for all were steady 
and consistent; and, when a revival of a most in¬ 
teresting character took place in the church, four 
of them professed to have yielded their hearts to 
that reasonable service which is perfect freedom. 
Two of them died young, and Margaret, long 
afterward, when bowed down to the borders of 
the grave with sore affliction, was comforted by 
the messages sent by those sable pupils from their 
deathbeds, which told of the peace they enjoyed, 
and attributed their desire to avail themselves of 
the offers of mercy to the impressions made by the 
instructions she had given them in the Sabbath- 
school. 

Her reluctance to the exchange which had been 
made was by no means lessened by the remarks of 
her companions and others during the interval of 
worship, but she was for the most part silent, or, 
if she answered, did so in a proper spirit. Firm¬ 
ness was a strong feature in her character: she had 
put her hand to the plough and would not turn 
back, nor had she the least desire to shrink from 
her duty. Yet she 'svas not happy wfflen she reached 
home, and she went to bed with the sense of a bur¬ 
den upon her, but when she opened her Bible to 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


129 


read a short passage, as was her constant practice 
before seeking her rest, a never-to-be-forgotten feel¬ 
ing, a sense of ‘^solemn but thrilling happiness,” 
came over her as she read the words, “ Inasmuch 
as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have 
done it unto me;” and, kneeling by her bedside, 
she prayed that she might be useful in her new vo¬ 
cation, and find happiness in doing the will of Him 
who gives to all their appropriate work, whether it 
calls for the exercise of one talent or ten. 

It was in school, however, that she was most 
tried. The black teacher,” as she was nicknamed, 
was subjected to many mortifications on account of 
the office she had undertaken; for although there 
were many good people in the congregation wdio 
thought it right that persons of colour should be 
taught Bible truths, they yet objected to their 
being mixed among the white scholars in Sunday- 
school.” Children generally echo the sentiments of 
their parents, and many breaches of friendship have 
been made and many grievous quarrels have de¬ 
stroyed the peace of a whole community by their re¬ 
peating what has been said in the home circle. This 
was the case now, and serious consequences might 
have ensued but for the steady consistency of James 
Gordon and his family. No notice was taken of 

9 


130 


MARGARET GORDON, 


any remark which was calculated to wound, no 
busybody’s tale was listened to; pursuing the even 
tenour of their way, and endeavouring to conform 
their lives to the gospel rule which enjoins that 
‘‘ye live in peace with all men,” no fuel being 
added to the flame, the subject was soon exhausted, 
and after a time, all prejudice being removed, the 
measure became as popular as it had at first been 
distasteful. 

Margaret, as we have already said, had much to 
bear with in school, but no one was so hard upon 
her as her late friend, Kitty Green, who let no 
opportunity pass unused for unfriendly taunt or 
wounding sneer; and few that observed the quiet 
demeanour of the schoolmaster’s daughter could 
have guessed how great was the struggle she was 
undergoing in maintaining her conquest over self, 
nor how difficult it was to restrain the hasty and 
perhaps improper reply, or to keep back the clever 
but ill-natured retort, which, from her quick tern- 
per, came but too readily to her lips. Sometimes, 
although it was but rarely, when tempted, she 
uttered them; but the sorrow she felt afterward 
was its sore punishment, for it made her deeply 
conscious of her own sinfulness, and humbled her 
as she recognized her own faults. 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


131 


Our readers may think that we have dwelt un¬ 
necessarily long on the early trials of the school¬ 
master’s daughter, and count them as very trivial 
matters. The days of martyrdom are indeed past, 
but we have no doubt that many a one whose 
eye may rest on these pages will acknowledge 
that school-trials are not the least among those 
trials that leave their impress on the page of 
memory. School is a miniature world, where the 
characteristics of maturer life are exhibited, and 
many there display a picture of what they are 
to be when called to go forth and face the world; 
and school may afford opportunity for bearing 
faithful and unflinching testimony to the great 
Master’s cause, or proving an opposition by ridi¬ 
culing and mortifying others whose walk is dif¬ 
ferent from their own. But it is by such little 
trials that the true discipline is involved. Little 
things,” says Dr. Chalmers, often bring great 
things to pass; the large world in which we exist 
is made up of little particles as small as the 
sand on the seashore; the vast sea is composed 
of small drops of water, and a little star shining 
brightly in a dark night has been the means 
of saving many a poor sailor from shipwreck. 
There is nothing trivial in the sight of God, who 


132 


MARGARET GORDON, 


can sanctify the small as well as the great events 
of our lives—those events seemingly of little im¬ 
portance in themselves, but which are yet the seed 
which are to bring forth harvests of blessing or 
harvests of sorrow; and it is the little trials of life 
which form its discipline. They irritate the temper 
and destroy the equanimity of the mind, just as the 
continual falling of water-drops, one by one, wears 
away the solid rock. Pride—sense of wrong—con¬ 
sciousness of the sympathy and pity of others, may 
assist us to meet great trials and strengthen us to en¬ 
dure great sufferings, but the grace of God is alone 
sufficient for us in the numberless petty annoyances 
which continually beset us in the path of daily life. 
Without it, none is able to endure suffering or has 
power to resist temptation; and it requires, in the 
daily life of Christians, constant watchfulness and 
prayer, lest they give occasion to the unbelieving 
and unconverted to doubt the truth of their religion 
and reality of their faith. Such trials as these Mar¬ 
garet was daily called to pass through, but she was 
learning in God^s own school the Christian’s part 
—trying to fulfil. 

Doing and suffering are his unquestioned will; 
and she did not suffer herself to be too much de¬ 
pressed by them, for she had thus early devoted 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


133 


herself to the service of One who would never for¬ 
sake her; and what trial could overwhelm her when 
he was with her ? And so her daily life went on, 
each day freighted with its own burden and amount 
of toil in the warfare she was constantly waging— 
namely, the ruling of self. Her warfare—like that 
of all Christians—was within; and labouring with 
a fervent spirit, she at length achieved the triumph 
which glories in 

“ A crown of never-fading wreaths, 

Compared with which the laurels that a Csesar reaps are weeds.” 

An opportunity soon occurred which would show 
whether or not she possessed the calm, enduring 
principle so necessary in self-discipline—which can 
endure the shock of sudden temptation and prove 
that her conquest was genuine. One day, as Kitty 
Green was about going to school, her father called 
her to him, and, handing her a paper covered with 
figures, told her he wanted her to cypher it out 
for him before evening,” as he was obliged to be 
from home all day, and expected two men, with 
whom he had to make some settlements as soon as 
he returned; adding that he could ^Gook it over and 
see that it was right—he would have time enough 
for that.” Kitty was frightened. Although quite 
clever in most of her studies, she was famed for 


134 


3rARQARET GORDON, 


dullness in all matters of reckoning, and hated 
arithmetic, often declaring that, as she never ex¬ 
pected to have much use for it, she would not 
trouble herself with it;’^ so she mostly got some 
one of her classmates to do her sums, and cared 
little that she was deceiving her teacher and her pa¬ 
rents. She looked over the document as she went 
on her way to school, and was dismayed at the 
magnitude of the task before her; but then the 
thought that she could get Lizzie Brooks to help 
her comforted her in a measure. She knew she 
dared not put off the task or disobey her stern 
father, and cared little that she was planning a 
new deception. To her great vexation, she found 
that Lizzie Brooks was not at school that day. 
Mary Burton could do it quite as well as Lizzie, 
but they had had a quarrel and did not speak. 
The schoolmaster’s daughter had helped her the 
oftenest and was the most reliable, but how could 
she ask a favour of one whom she felt that she had 
wronged? She asked assistance from one or two 
others; they declined, on plea either of having no 
time or that the task was too troublesome. What 
was she to do ? She feared to return the untouched 
paper to her father, whose displeasure she dreaded 
more than anything in the world, for his will was 


on CAN I FOnGTVE? 


135 


absolute and brooked no opposition. There was 
now no alternative but to apply to Margaret. The 
afternoon was wearing apace. The work must be 
done by all or any means; so, choking down her 
mortification and bowing down her })ride, she ap¬ 
proached Margaret’s desk, and, taking possession 
of Martha Harding’s vacant seat, made her request 
known. A momentary thrill of exultation shot 
through Margaret’s heart, and a bright glow man¬ 
tled her face as she listened. What caused it ? 
Was it the natural emotion of satisfied pride that 
she now had it in her power to return evil for evil, 
and humble, by a refusal, one who, once her friend, 
had of late shown herself so unfriendly ? Her in- 
jurer was in her power; she could now repay her 
for the pain she had so recklessly inflicted. Others, 
with whom she was on friendly terms, had refused 
to aid her, and it seemed a piece of arrogance to 
ask a favour of one whom she taken so much pains 
to mortify. Margaret was by no means perfect: 
the light of grace, which was being kindled in her 
heart, was not yet so clearly discernible as to enable 
her to decide suddenly, and for a moment she hesi¬ 
tated. The promptings of the natural man were 
hard to be resisted. Proud and high-spirited by 
nature, she was only too prone, when occasion of- 


136 


MARGARET GORDON, 


fered, to use that ready and natural weapon of 
self-defence—namely, retaliation. The w^ords of a 
scornful refusal trembled on her lips, but the 
watchfulness which for many, many months she 
had been able to exercise warned her against their 
use, and the better principle triumphed. 

Margaret, who now regularly taught some of the 
classes in the lower branches, could readily have 
named want of time as an excuse for refusing. But 
strength equal to the day was given. With the 
rapidity of which thought only is capable, memory 
placed before her the injunctions of the Great Law¬ 
giver, which teach of mercy and putting away of 
malice and wrath, recompensing to no man evil for 
evil, but rather, practicing the law of kindness, over¬ 
come evil with good, and if thine enemy hunger 
feed him, for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of 
fire on his head. 

The glow of triumph faded from Margaret^s 
cheek, leaving it as pale as usual; she examined 
the paper and found the task, from the irregular 
manner of its arrangement, would be somewhat 
troublesome, but not difficult, as it only involved 
exercises in compound addition and compound 
division; and telling Kitty she would do it for 
her as soon as she had got through with her 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 137 

little pupils, she left her desk and proceeded to her 
duty. 

She was as good as her word. The straggling 
figures were brought into order, and the whole 
finished in plenty of time for Kitty to copy off in 
her own hand. Her father examined and found it 
correct. Greatly delighted at hex smartness, he 
praised her as he had never done before, and de¬ 
clared that he would give her anything she asked 
for. I knew,’^ he added, that you could do it 
after you beat them all at the examination—the 
schoolmaster’s daughter and all the rest.” 

There is no censure so severe as that contained in 
the words of unmerited praise. Every one has a 
conscience, and Kitty had not yet so far advanced 
in the ways of the wmrld that hers was silent; and 
now her conscience spoke loudly, piercing her heart 
with the sharpness of a dagger. She could not look 
up into her father’s face as he praised her. His 
promise of reward afforded no joy. She was mis¬ 
erable, as all must be who practice deception and 
transgress the law of God. She went to bed that 
night with a heavy, burdensome sense of guilt rest¬ 
ing upon her. She had a second time deceived her 
father; but notwithstanding the humiliating and 
degrading recollection that she had appropriated to 


138 


MARGARET GORDON, 


herself the praise that belonged to another, hav¬ 
ing no fear that she would be found out, she had 
no idea of relieving her uneasiness by a frank ac¬ 
knowledgment of the truth. 

She was conscious that she had acted a falsehood, 
but she endeavoured to persuade herself that it was 
nothing more than she had often done before, and 
was sure everybody else did. But she could not 
succeed. The goading conscience made her uneasy, 
and she tried to silence its warning by trying to 
convince herself that her fault—namely, the double 
deception she had practiced—w^as but trifling; and 
resolved that she would never do so again, and that in 
future she would treat Margaret better than she had 
done of late. Poor girl! she did’not know, for she 
had never been told, that no goodness of her own or 
resolutions of amendment, even if her after life was 
perfectly blameless, could atone for the smallest sin 
in the sight of God. Forgiven indeed all may be, 
even the worst of sinners, for the sake of the Sa¬ 
viour who bore the punishment of all sin; but be¬ 
fore this forgiveness can be obtained, there must be 
the humble acknowledgment of guilt both to God and 
those we have wronged, if the otfence has been against 
both; but in the pride of her heart, Kitty never 
once dreamed of such a humiliation. Very differ- 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


139 


ent was the state of Margaret’s mind as she pre¬ 
pared for her nightly rest, for she was enjoying that 
peace which always follows the fulfilment of high 
duty; and humbly grateful that through grace she 
had been enabled to conquer self, her last thought 
when she laid her head upon her pillow was of the 
mercy and goodness which had followed her all her 
life. 



CHAPTER IX. 


THE ONWARD PATH AND SAD CHANGES. 

many days after this occurrence,' as Alice 
Gordon sat alone at her work, she was some¬ 
what startled at the appearance of a visitor, 
who was no other than Mrs. Green. She entered 
without knocking, and, after having seated herself 
in the most unceremonious manner, complained of 
the heat and found fault with the weather, pro¬ 
ceeded to tell what was the business that brought 
her. 

I\"e brought you some work, Mrs. Gordon, 
said she, displaying at the same time a large bun¬ 
dle of muslin; it’s all white seam, and I want it 
done immedently and purticMar, Our Kitty is to 
go home with Mrs. Slimmins—you know she is 
the Squire’s cousin, and has been stayin’ with us 
’most all summer. She lives down to—well, now, 
I can’t jist mind where, but it’s some place not 
fur from Baltimore. Oh, what makes me forgit the 
queer name? Anyhow, it’s somewhere in Mur’- 

140 




CAN I FORGIVE f 


141 


land. Well, she won’t hear to nothing but that 
Kitty must go home with her and go to school in 
her town, where, she says, she will get polished, 
and set you all right when she comes back.” 

She stopped a moment, but, finding that Mrs. 
Gordon did not manifest great astonishment and 
answered rather indifferently, she went on: 

She is to larn everything at that grand school 
—to play the pianny and flower muslin. The 
Squire, he wouldn’t give into it at fust; he said she 
would larn enough at home here; but he thinks 
now that she is lamed out, and knows all that the 
schoolmaster can teach her. Why, do you know 
the other day, when he had to go to vandue, he 
gave her a paper full of figures to cypher out, and 
he said she figured them out as well as he could 
have done hisself. He was so pleased, and said as 
she was so smart she should go home with Cousin 
Slimmins and larn to play the pianny and flower 
muslin.” 

Alice had heard of Kitty’s '^cypherin’” from 
Margaret, but, however, did not reply to this 
speech, but limited her remarks to what concerned 
the work in hand. Mrs. Green continued her con¬ 
versation for some time, until she recollected that 
the supper-time was approaching. Starting up 


142 


MARGARET GORDON. 


hastily, she was about to leave as abruptly as she 
had entered, when, suddenly, as if recollecting 
something, she turned back and reseated herself. 

What do you think of the news she asked, 
and what d’ye think they’ll do ?” 

Who ?” asked Alice. “ What news ? and what 
do you mean 

Why, the Hardings,” replied Mrs. Green. 
William Harding is dead, you know, and they 
say he has not left a single red cent.” 

^^Dead?” repeated Alice. ^^When? how? I 
had not heard it.” 

He died yesterday,’^ was the reply; and the 
Squire says there is so much bail-money to pay 
that everything will have to be sold, and then 
won’t reach. That’ll be a come-down when they 
have to leave the old house. Mrs. Harding held 
herself very grand with her quality notions, never 
going to our. tea-drinkin’s or giving them. She’ll 
have to come down a peg or two now, I guess.” 

I am very sorry to hear of their great misfor¬ 
tune,” said Alice. ‘^As far as I have been ac¬ 
quainted with Mrs. Harding, I could not say I 
thought her proud. She stayed very closely at 
home, indeed, but then she may have had good 
reasons for doing so.” 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


143 


She did not care for any l)ut the quality from 

C-replied Mrs. Green. Let’s see what 

they’ll do for her now. She’ll not take much state 
upon herself after she leaves the farm. Pride 
mostly gets a fall, and they’ll have a come-down, 
and it serves them right.” 

Alice was about to reply, but, recollecting that 
it would be of no use to reason with a person like 
Airs. Green, she suffered her to talk on until she 
had exhausted the topic. At length she became 
wearied herself, and, starting up a second time, 
declaring that the Squire would be ready for his 
supper, and once more charging Alice to do the 

white seam, immedentlg and purticklarj’ she added 
that she had a couple of caliker frocks” for her 
to make after she finished the work she had just 
given her, and then she departed. 

The news related by Airs. Green was unhappily 
true. The Hardings, in a very few weeks, had to 
experience the sad realities which so often follow 
in the steps of death. They had to leave the 
farm, which had been the family home for many 
generations, and retire to a cottage, to which was 
attached a small garden and strip of pasture-land. 
It belonged to a distant relative of Airs. Harding, 
who i)ermitted her to live in it rent free as long as 



144 


MARGARET GORDON, 


it suited her. She had many sympathizers, who 
were not of the spirit of Mrs. Green. But there 
are two kinds of sympathy—the external and in¬ 
ternal : the first gives exactly the amount of pity 
which the circumstances seem to call for, and is 
soon exhausted; the other, the real, cordial, inter¬ 
nal sympathy, which has the power of throwing 
itself into the mind, and, instead of giving a lec¬ 
ture on the duty of resignation or on how many 
comforts the mourner still has left, makes, as it 
were, the grief its own, rejoices,’’ as the Scripture 
enjoins, “ with those that do rejoice, and weeps 
with those that weep.” Alice Gordon and her 
husband were of the class who understood the na¬ 
ture of true sympathy. The humble home, for 
which the comfortable farm-house had been ex¬ 
changed, lay in an opposite direction from the old 
neighbourhood, but was quite near to the school¬ 
master’s cottage; and, as it was desired by the be¬ 
reaved family, Alice and her husband went often 
to see them. One hour’s conversation with them 
was rest and strength for the bereaved family. 
Comprehending the grief, loneliness and responsi¬ 
bility involved in such a loss, while they acknow¬ 
ledged that it was hard to bear, they soothed the 
wounded spirits of the mourners as they gently 


OR CAN I FORQIVE? 


145 


turned their thouglits from themselves to Him 
wlio knew the full extent of the trial, and who 
would never have sent it but in merey, and en¬ 
deavoured to convince them that no one who relied 
on God for comfort could ever be wholly desolate. 

Mrs. Green’s work was finished within the speci¬ 
fied time, and Margaret was desired to carry it 
home, and, on her return, deliver a message from 
her mother to Mrs. Harding, whose cottage she 
could easily take in her way. Mrs. Green met her 
at the door and insisted on her entering, which she 
was not at all disposed to do; but the good-natured 
mistress of the farm-house would take no denial. 

You must come in, Margaret,^’ she said, ‘^ and 
See Kitty’s nice new dresses, which have just come 
by our carter’s boy from the dressmaker’s. Kitty 
ain’t to home; she and Cousin Slimmins is gone to 
a tea-drinking, and won’t be in till late. Besides, 
I have some caliker I want to send to your mother 
to make up. You may tell her I am pleased with 
the ^ white seam’ work, and so I can trust her with 
the caliker, for Mrs. Fisher charges so high I did 
not care to give them to her, though she’s very good 
at her trade.” 

Margaret followed Mrs. Green up stairs into the 
sj)are-room,” which was strewn all over with nice 
10 


146 


MARGARET GORDON, 


things, and more dresses than Margaret had owned 
in the whole course of her life. 

^Ms not this a pretty gingham?’’ said Mrs. Green, 
as with great satisfaction she displayed the ample 
wardrobe. “Now, what do you think them two 
cost? Just give a guess,” she added, as she called 
Margaret’s particular attention to a gaudy Canton 
crape and purple silk, both very elaborately trimmed, 
which lay spread out on the bed. 

Margaret, who knew little about gay dresses, could 
not guess. So Mrs. Green named the sum—an 
amount which amazed her. It was more than she 
could earn by her labour throughout a whole sum¬ 
mer. She did not linger, for she felt not envious, 
but dissatisfied; and with feelings not at all im¬ 
proved by her short visit to the spare-room, after 
having received the calico with many charges to be 
purticJclar” she proceeded to execute her further 
errand. 

It was a bright afternoon, and most inviting for 
a prolonged walk—very warm for the end of Sep¬ 
tember, and yet very invigourating. There were 
glorious colours on the fading leaves and dancing 
lights on the boughs of the forest trees under which 
she passed. Sunshine shone on the broad border 
of grass by the roadside, and a veil of soft mist 


OR CAR I FORGIVE? 


147 


half shrouded the distant hills in indistinctness. 
All was so lovely and peaceful that Margaret’s dis¬ 
satisfaction gradually yielded to its influence. We 
have already told our readers that she was ambi¬ 
tious, and had a mistaken notion that riches have a 
certain miraculous power of buying off* all the dis¬ 
agreeable things of life, and that no good was so 
great as the possession of money. A feeling of dis¬ 
content had been excited by the display of Kitty 
Green’s flnery ; and as she thought over the differ- 
ence in the circumstances of her father and Squire 
Green, she wondered again and again why the goods 
of earth were so unequally divided. But this mood 
did not continue long. The lessons of her pious 
parents had not been in vain. They had taught 
her that the days of her childhood were the most 
important in her life, for they were those in which 
habits for good or evil were formed which would be 
her blessing or her curse for ever. She had been 
told of the first sinful nature which every one brings 
with them into the world at their birth, and of the 
second holy nature which is the consequence of the 
second birth, without which the Scripture tells us 
no one can see God ; and she had also been warned 
that the whole of the Christian’s life was a struggle 
between the two—a struggle which was begun from 


148 


MARGARET GORDON, 


the very first moment of her becoming sensible of 
the difference between right and wrong. Thus she 
had learned to look upon what are considered tri¬ 
fling faults in a child—ill-temper, vanity, selfish¬ 
ness, envy and other evil dispositions—as real sins in 
the sight of God, which must be checked in the very 
beginning by those who wish to become heirs of 
heaven. Thus early trained to the task of self-ex¬ 
amination, she had learned lately to know some- 
thins: of herself, and that dissatisfaction with the 
condition in which unerring Wisdom had placed 
her and a disposition to envy the rich were her be¬ 
setting sins; but although the wish for wealth and 
the good things of this world would, as on the pres¬ 
ent occasion, arise, it was always accompanied by 
the knowledge that it was wrong, and she would 
feel sorry and vexed with herself, and she endeav¬ 
oured to conquer it, and, being sincere in the wish 
and^watchful over self-love, every day the task be¬ 
came less difficult. The kind of education she had 
received from her home-teaching caused her to be 
more thoughtful than is usual at her age, and gave 
her whole demeanour a serious and quiet cast, 
making her appear much older than she was; but 
such an education, in reality, adds far more to the 
happiness than it apparently takes away. It makes 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


149 


the recipient love the blue sky, the trees and flow¬ 
ers and all the forms of living life, not merely for 
their wonders and their beauty, but because they 
are the works of God, and are especial blessings 
provided and sent for the everyday enjoyment of 
all who can recognize the mighty Hand which 
formed them. 

There are few who can go abroad amid such 
beautiful surroundings as those which encompassed 
Margaret’s path and be insensible to the holy min¬ 
istrations of nature. Softened and subdued, she 
yielded to the silent influence, and by the time she 
reached Mrs. Harding’s cottage all her previous 
disquiet was changed to loving trust and childlike 
submission to the will of Him who has given so 
much beauty to this sinful earth. Her knock at 
the door had to be repeated before any one answered 
the summons, and she was about to retrace her 
homeward way when it was opened by Martha, 
who invited her to enter. That something more 
than usual had occurred was evident, from the state 
in which she found the family; Mrs. Harding 
wiped away her tears, which it seemed she could 
not repress, and tried to give her a cordial recep¬ 
tion ; Martha’s eyes showed traces of recent weep¬ 
ing, and a bright red spot on each cheek told of 


150 


MARGARET GORDON, 


present agitation. Two little children were sitting 
on the floor close to their mother, and, having left 
their building houses of corn-cobs unfinished, sat 
gazing up into her face as if trying to understand 
what was going forward. Margaret, having de¬ 
livered her message, rose to depart, although urged 
to remain. She had, she was sure, made her visit 
at an inconvenient time, and, feeling herself in the 
way, she therefore soon took her leave. 

The cause of their present grief was, how'ever, 
soon made known by Martha, who accompanied 
her part of the way home. They were barely out¬ 
side of the cottage when she rather abruptly said: 

I suppose, Margaret, you wondered to find us 
in such a state of confusion, but I’ll tell you what 
everybody will soon know—I am going to service.” 

You, Martha Harding, going to live out?” re¬ 
peated Margaret, stopping short in her astonish¬ 
ment. What will your rich friends say ? And 
will your mother really consent?” 

Mother cannot bear to think of it,” replied 
Martha; she says it is too great a come-down for 
the Hardings, and all that troubles me is that she 
frets so about it.” 

But why not rather teach, or learn dress-mak¬ 
ing, or work with a milliner?” asked Margaret. 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


151 


It don’t seem right that you should live out, when 
you have some far-out cousins who are very rich. 
What will they think when they hear it ?” 

We are poor now,” said Martha, firmly, ^^and 
look at our situation as it is; and, acting for our¬ 
selves, are not to be ruled by other people’s notions. 
Mother’s rich relations know what she is suffering 
and how reduced we are, but not one of them, ex¬ 
cept Mr. Harvey, who is not rich, has sent us the 
least help; and, this being the case, if they choose 
to look down upon me because I am making an 
honest effort to aid my mother, why let them do so. 
I liave only to go straightforward in the prosecu¬ 
tion of what seems at present to be my duty, as¬ 
sured that I shall not suffer in the estimation of 
anybody whose esteem is worth having.” 

But living out, Martha dear—one like you; 
could you not do as well at dress or bonnet-mak¬ 
ing?” inquired Margaret; ‘‘\t don’t seem to lower 
one half so much as living out.” 

“ I did think of that,” replied Martha, but the 
premium asked was so liigh, and such a length of 
time required in both, that I could not think of 
undertaking the task; for we had not the means 
to pay for the apprenticeshij), and how was my 
mother to live in the mean time, and until I got 


152 


MARGARET GORDON, 


into business? And, besides, I have always been 
accustomed to lead an active life, and I know my 
health would be ruined by confinement; and then, 
instead of being a help to mother, I should be a bur¬ 
den. And so, Maggie, I made up my mind to go 
to service, and that, as there was no possibility of 
dependence on far-off rich relations, I would look 
to myself alone, and go forward self-reliant and 
hopeful, as thousands before me have done.’’ 

But are you engaged, and how did you get the 
place, and is it a nice one?” was once more asked. 

I have got the place,” replied Martha, and 
am to go at once. Whether it is a nice one time 
must show. You know Miss Anne Duncan, in 

C-, is a relation of mother’s? Well, she went 

with me to the dressmaker’s, and concluded that 
the plan of apprenticeship would not do, but she 
said she could get me a place, as ^companion,’ it was 
called, but really that of a servant, to an old lady 
of her acquaintance, who had been a rheumatic 
cripple for many years. She is very rich and lives 
in a handsome house; but Cousin Anne says it will 
not be an easy place, for Miss Marshall requires a 
great deal of waiting on, and, although a good 
woman, is very irritable, and I will be much con¬ 
fined. But she is very benevolent, and will pay 



OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


153 


me well for my services; and as I am not engaged 
exactly as a servant, although I am obliged to per¬ 
form the duties of one, but am to be called a com¬ 
panion, mother has at last consented; and that is 
what we were talking about when you came. But, 
we must say ‘Good-bye,’ now, for I have much to 
do, and I wish to be with mother until the last 
minute.” 

With a warm embrace they parted, and Margaret 
pursued her homeward way; she could not help 
wondering at the decision exhibited by Martha, 
whom she had been in the habit of considering a 
rather passive character, forgetting that self-reliance 
and exertion are forced upon thousands by circum¬ 
stances as untoward as those experienced by the 
Hardings. 

Her path led past the church, which stood lonely 
and apart from the dwellings of those who every 
Sunday worshipped there. Its site had been well 
chosen, for it was placed on the summit of a small 
eminence, and seemed from its solitary elevation as 
if keeping watch over the cultivated plains which 
lay at its foot, and, dotted with farm-houses and 
cattle, presented a. lovely picture, to which the 
distant mountains formed a frame. A broad 
and beautiful stream, upon which the sunshine 


154 


MARGARET GORDON, 


lay flickering and quivering, like masses of bur¬ 
nished silver, flowed quietly by ; a strip of forest 
surrounded it on three sides, and on the open 
space, which led to the farmsteads, the grave¬ 
yard told its tale of warning to the living, ad¬ 
monishing them of that Almighty Power which 
has the rule over life and death, and shall one day 
summon the world to judgment. The quaint, old- 
fashioned church, built in the early days of the 
colony, composed of rude gray stones, in . many 
places covered with dark moss, was venerable from 
its antiquity and sacred from its associations. It 
seemed a marvel why it stood there alone and at 
such a distance from most of the cono;reo;ation, for, 
except at the Sabbath—for very seldom were week¬ 
day exercises held there—it ‘^seemed to have no 
lesson to preach to the poor nor any word of warn¬ 
ing to offer to the rich;” the busy stir of life de¬ 
serted it save on those seven-day intervals; the 
rude, dark tombstones told their tales of the vanity 
of all created things to the happy birds and glad 
insects, but had no daily voice to admonish the 
thoughtless and reckless of mankind. Yet, when 
the Sabbath came, it was very solemn to worship 
there, hopeful with the hope of heaven,” in the 
calm, bright summer mornings, when dewdrops, 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


155 


sparkling in the brilliant sunlight, still hung upon 
the trees and grass, and all the harmonies of Na¬ 
ture accompanied the simple hymn sung by untu¬ 
tored voices, and mingled with the sweet odours 
exhaled from the forest: the song of birds that teach 
so plainly God’s providence and care, the hum of 
insects and murmurings of the stream, could not 
fail to raise the heart above earthly things, and for 
a space lead to a nearer contemplation of Him who 
made them all; guiding both day and night in 
their courses, and making all to subserve for the 
enjoyment of man, whom he has created and leads 
forth with daily care and love. 

Margaret had for some time been conscious of a 
weight upon her spirits, which, although she was 
careful to conceal from her family, she could not 
hide from herself, or set aside as being a nervous 
affection proceeding from over-exertion. The state 
of her father’s health had for a long time been a 
subject of anxiety to her. She had, however, 
never named her fears to her mother, who, she 
felt certain, had never noticed the symptoms which 
had awakened her own solicitude. She had not. 
failed to observe that his hair had grown quite 
white, his breathing was short and difficult, and 
that often when in school an expression of pain 


156 


MARGARET GORDON, 


would pass over liis face, and he would press his 
hand upon his heart as if to still the oppressive 
quickness of its violent beatings. AYhat might be 
the end of all this? Heart disease, she had heard, 
was always fatal, and if it was heart disease which 
ailed her father, the worst was to be feared. But 
he had never complained; she had often wished 
that he would, for then medical advice might have 
relieved her anxieties. Margaret Gordon was a 
good girl—sincere, truthful, conscientious and God¬ 
fearing. But there was something more necessary 
—that change of heart which is the work of the 
Spirit, and without which the Saviour has declared 
no one can be truly a child of God, an heir of 
heaven. Kind-hearted and wishing to do right, 
she was yet by no means perfect. She had the 
natural defects which seem inseparable from the 
good qualities which made her what she was. She 
did not always speak gently, even to her parents, 
or conceal her displeasure when her wishes were 
thwarted; and often intruded her opinions in cases 
where it was improper for one so young to judge. 
But so religiously brought up as she was, and most 
entirely humble, she was the first to see her own 
faults and acknowledge them. She was well aware 
that she did not always keep a strict guard over 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


157 


lier own heart. Although naturally of a bright and 
hoping spirit, at times she gavd way to pining and 
discontent, and her besetting sin was a desire for 
riches, higher rank in life and advantages which 
God in his wisdom had seen good to deny her. 
Much as she had been urged by her father and 
pastor to yield to the claims of her Creator and Ke- 
deemer, and profess her faith by joining the visible 
Church here below, she had always excused herself 
on the score of unfitness, and kept putting off the 
important task until a more convenient season. 
But latterly a new plmse of inward existence had 
begun to dawn upon her: the first strong impulse 
to spiritual growth had been felt, and, humble and 
self-distrusting, she became conscious of the high 
responsibility which rests upon all who would live 
rightly and serve God acceptably. We all have 
fresh starting-points in life granted us from time to 
time, but there is not one so marked as that which 
is associated with our first vivid apprehension of 
the fact that God loves us, and we feel a desire to 
keep his commandments and be called his children. 
This apprehension is called by different names, and 
different degrees of importance are attached to it. 
But as our business is not to enter into argument 
but to endeavour to instruct, we will only say, in 


158 


MARGARET GORDON, 


the words of another, that one thing is known 
and acknowledged by all alike—that to confess 
such a belief by the lips is one thing and to receive 
it in the heart another/^ In the one case it is a 
mere formula, whilst in the other it becomes the 
most powerful of motives—the one all-embracing 
principle which meets every difficulty and tempta¬ 
tion in life. 

A broad ledge of stonework, which served the 
congregation for a seat in the interval between the 
sermons, ran round three sides of the church, and 
on this Margaret, somewhat wearied by her 
walk, now sat down to rest. The weight which 
had lately rested on her spirits was by no means 
lessened by the conversation she had had with 
Martha Harding; and, as she contrasted her cheer¬ 
ful submission to a lot so changed as hers to what 
her own in the same circumstances would have 
been, she felt her own shortcomings most pain¬ 
fully, and she entered upon the task of self-exami¬ 
nation more strictly than she had ever done before. 
The end and object of life—what was it ? The 
Bible answered her question. It is to love and 
serve God, that we may enjoy him for ever. 

As she sat opposite the open gate of the church¬ 
yard and gazed at the worn tombstones, many of 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


159 


wliich lay half buried beneath tall grass and weeds, 
her scrutiny of self was mingled with meditations 
on the change—written so plain on all things here 
below—which death would certainly bring to all. 
What would it bring to her? What had it brought 
to the hundreds who found a resting-place within 
that silent city ? What had been the great object 
of their lives ? They had passed into the unseen 
world ; their earthly hopes, joys and sorrows had 
ceased. One thing alone they had carried with 
them—the memory of the governing principle of 
their lives. Her reflections carried her forward to 
the day when the account of those principles would 
be demanded from all. With some it might have 
been desire of fame, with more the love of money; 
with others the impulse of a petty vanity; with 
many, very many the mere wish to pass life in a 
round of pleasure, taking no thought of to-morrow; 
and with a scarcely less number the gratification 
of a self-indulgent spirit that, wrapt wholly in its 
own individual concerns, heeded neither the pains 
nor the pleasures of those among whom they dwelt. 
Margaret asked herself to which of these classes 
she belonged. Was she a child of God, or did she 
love the world better than the law of grace ? Hid 
she possess that spirit of holiness, meekness, long- 


ICO 


MARGARET GORDON, 


suffering and forbearance, the signs of that new 
nature which after God is created in righteous¬ 
ness and true holiness?’^ Her conscience answered 
sincerely, and tears of real repentance flowed from 
her eyes. They were not the first that she had 
shed over her own shortcomings. She had been 
often told of the exceeding riches of God’s grace,’’ 
and had often experienced his goodness in the 
affairs of every-day life, but now her tears flowed 
from a deeper source—a sense of ingratitude to Him 
by whose death a sinful world might be redeemed. 
This day was destined to prove a fresh starting- 
point to the schoolmaster’s daughter. She was 
roused from her sorrowful meditations by the 
sound of a horse’s footsteps, and, hastily drying 
her eyes, she turned them in the direction from 
whence they came, but did not know whether to 
be glad or sorry when she saw that the rider was 
her pastor, Mr. Upton. He dismounted from his 
horse, and, finding her ready to pursue her way 
homeward, remarked that, as their paths were the 
same for a short distance, he would accompany her 
to the place where they separated. 

I am glad to have an opportunity of saying a 
few words to you, Margaret,” said he, as he walked 
beside her, leading his horse by the bridle. 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


161 


cannot often fiiul yon alone, and I have a good deal 
that I have wished to talk over with you, and you 
must let me be plain with you, as your pastor ought 
to be. I expected to see you long ago profess 
your willingness to serve One who has done so 
much for you, and publicly acknowledge your alle¬ 
giance in obeying his command by joining in com¬ 
munion with those who profess to be for the Sa¬ 
viour.’^ 

Margaret did not answer; her tears were again 
flowing, and Mr. Upton went on: 

“ Much, my child, will be required of you, for 
brought up by such parents as yours, your religious 
education has not been neglected and the words of 
Holy Writ have been made familiar to you. And 
what, in reference to this subject, do they say? 
‘ Excej)t ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man 
and drink his blood, ye have no life in you. 
Whoso eatetli my flesh and drinketh my blood 
hath eternal life, and I will raise him up at the 
last day.’ ” 

“ But I do not feel that I have had a change of 
heart,” said Margaret, at last, speaking through her 
tears. I have thought*a great deal lately on the 
subject, and have been sad and unhappy about it— 
for how could I go to the communion-table feeling 
11 


162 


MARGAHET GORDON, 


myself unfit ? And I fear also for my own stability, 
and that I am too young/’ 

^^Say rather, Margaret,” rejoined Mr. Upton, 
that you have not sufficiently realized the great¬ 
ness of the work before you, and therefore have not 
summoned sufficient strength of will to perform it. 
But the claims of your Creator and Redeemer are 
not to be set aside or trifled with, and it is but fit¬ 
ting that you should enter upon this service in the 
spring-time of your youth, and give your best days 
to your best Friend. He never requires more of 
us than we are able to perform, and he blesses us 
and helps us in our feeble strivings after holiness 
if we only strive sincerely, and because it is abso¬ 
lutely impossible that by any obedience of our own 
we could ever deserve heaven. He assures us that 
if we will only trust and love hini, we shall one 
day enter upon the inheritance purchased for us by 
Him who bore the punishment which was our due. 
Life is given to prepare us for eternity, and the 
example of Felix is given as a warning of how 
much importance it is to choose this day whom we 
will serve. There is no neutral ground on which 
we may stand—no middle Avorld which we may ob¬ 
tain merely by having good wishes. The world 
loves and cares for its own, but only the children of 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


163 


God are the heirs of heaven: and do yon not wish 
to own yourself God’s child?” 

do, indeed,” answered Margaret: ^^but I have 
always thought that before the communion-table 
could be properly approached one must be conscious 
of a change of heart. I know that I am sincere in 
the wish that I had received that change, but every 
day’s experience show's me that I have not, for every 
day I have a conflict with myself. No one can change 
their own heart; and that being the case, what then 
can I do?” 

“You have a wish to do right and desire to serve 
your Maker; that wish is an especial gift of God. 
You have a habit of outward religion, a heart to 
love and admire goodness, and a spirit of obedience 
which leads you to a right discharge of duty to¬ 
ward your parents and others. These are the germs 
of the holiness of a saint; but they want one thing 
more in order to the perfection of a Christian 
character, and they may lead to it. 

“ What is that ?” inquired Margaret. 

“The will to make them so. All that -we ask in 
prayer, believing, we shall receive. Ask for the 
will and it will be granted you. Ask it especially 
now, at this season; it may be the turning-point of 
your life. Once gone, it may never return. There 


164 


MARGARET GORDON, 


are two roads tliat lie before every human being. 
One is the broad road that leads to destruction; the 
other is the narrow way that leads to life. One of 
these must be chosen, and it is dangerous to put 
off deciding, waiting for a day that may never come. 
Margaret, my child, remember this world was not 
meant for delay, 

The words, so true and so earnest, sank deep 
into her heart, but she did not answer, and Mr. 
Upton proceeded: 

You spoke truly when you said you could not 
change your own heart, for that is the work of the 
Holy Spirit. But you can break up the fallow 
ground, and open your heart to receive him. You 
can ‘ ask, seek and call.^ That is your work—a 
work which you only can do, and which you must 
some time do if you ever expect to find salvation. 
And I pray you to begin now— now, before the 
cares and deceittulness of the world shall choke the 
good that is in your heart, and render it altogether 
barren and unfruitful. You say that for some 
time you have felt sad and oppressed, and feel as 
if a great burden was resting upon you. Be 
thankful, Margaret, that it is so. God has dis¬ 
turbed your security in order that you may come 
to him and find peace in believing. Never give' 


OB CAN I FORGlVEf 


165 


up the striving until you do find it. Pray con¬ 
stantly that you may be able to perform all the 
duties of a Christian life, and exercise them with 
diligence and godly fear; that, by faith, you may 
give up to him your whole heart and cordially 
unite your interests with his. This is the first 
step in the Christian life, and is of vital import¬ 
ance; for, when life’s course is ended, is not eternal 
life the prize?” 

If I could only feel that I was fit,” saitl Mar¬ 
garet. “I have wandering thoughts in church, 
and cannot always pray as earnestly as I wish. 
This makes me unhappy, and then I long at times 
to wait another year.” 

Another year would not help you. You might 
feel just the same at the end of it.” 

Shall I, then, never be more fit ?” asked Mar¬ 
garet. 

Why should you seek for more than God re¬ 
quires?” said Mr. Upton. ^^When our Saviour 
restored the blind and lame, he did not wish them 
to walk and see a little before he made them quite 
whole; but he told them they must have faith— 
that is, he required a trust in his power and a 
willingness to be cured ; and this, Margaret; is all 
he asks of you. He asks for no fitness except that 


166 


MARGARET GORDON, 


which you have yourself just acknowledged— 
namely, your need of him. And so do not give 
way to any more doubts and scruples, but begin 
the first act of your duty. Keligion will be all in 
all to you, as it is to every one who embraces it 
with devout earnestness of purpose.’’ 

' They had by this time reached the place where 
the roads diverged. Mr. Upton bade her a kind 
farewell, and, mounting his horse, was soon out of 
sight. Margaret, anxious that the traces of the 
tears she shed should be effaced before she appear¬ 
ed before her family, lingered on her way home¬ 
ward, meditating on her late conversation; and 
the words, “ This world was not meant for delay,” 
rang in her ears like a voice of warning. She was 
in a most humble mood; and as the memory of 
childish offences and the sins of advancing years, 
of passion, pride, selfishness, discontent and sinful 
longing for the possession .of riches and a higher 
position in life than that in which God’s will had 
placed her, and the long list of ignorances and 
errors which make the days of our youth a burden 
even to the most innocent, rose up before her, she 
resolved that she would no longer delay, and the 
resolution afforded her great satisfaction. She 
had also received an earnest injunction to prayer. 


OB CAN I FORGIVEf 


167 


This exercise she liad always been scrupulous in 
performing; but, not more earnest than heretofore, 
it was from this time attuned in a deeper language 
of the heart as she entreated that she might be 
made worthy to share worthily in the sacred rite 
which was so soon to be commemorated. 

We have already spoken of her as being decided 
in purpose and energetic in action, and now that 
she saw her path of duty so plainly pointed out, 
she determined to pursue it earnestly and without 
delay. Self-discipline is the duty of all who would 
wish to serve God acceptably; this, she had in a 
measure practiced, and in a measure succeeded ; but 
now, in the enlightenment she had experienced, 
she was enabled to view herself as she was—a sin¬ 
ner in the sight of God—and, in the sacredness of 
tliat Presence, judge herself by the only true stand¬ 
ard. How severe such an examination is can only 
be imagined by those who, in their strict conscien¬ 
tious unsparing of self, determine on living by the 
Gospel rule: If any man will serve me, let him 
take up his cross and follow me*;’’ and the great 
apostle tell us often of the struggles he had with 
self, “ keeping his spirit in subjection, lest having 
preached the gospel to others he himself might 
become a castaway.” But although the task of 


168 MARGARET GORDON, 

self-scrutiny and self-discipline is, perhaps, the 
hardest duty that we can inapose upon ourselves, 
nevertheless, when once the soul is awakened to 
the consciousness that sin is hateful in the sight of 
God, there is a kind of stern satisfaction in the 
resolve to submit to the severe ordeal of self-con¬ 
demnation, such as one may imagine Brutus to 
have had when he sat in judgment upon his sons. 
Those who would walk worthily must be ready to 
examine themselves, whether they are really in the 
faith, and prove themselves by the law of truth as 
laid down in the gospel. Margaret had begun; 
she had taken the first step—namely, to resolve; 
but would she be able to continue her hard task, 
living in a constant sacrifice of self, as all must do 
who follow Christ, who had sacrificed himself for 
those who were his enemies, or did she waver? 
No; her fixedness of purpose was not based upon 
a presumption of her own strength, but in sincerity 
and distrust of self, and it is on this sincerity of 
purpose that God^s blessing will always rest. She 
therefore commended her weakness to the strength 
of Him who is always ready to aid, praying him 
to accept her will and give her grace to fulfil that 
most earnest purpose of her Soul. Such seasons 
are to the inward life seasons of growth, and from 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


169 


tliat evening Margaret was conscious that she had 
gained much, and received an impulse more power¬ 
ful than that derived from any human stimulus. 
Constant occupation and constant anxiety, caused 
by her father’s feeble health, formed Margaret’s 
outer life; the inner, seen only by the eye of God, 
calm and tranquil, was too far above earth to be 
disturbed by its strivings or its cares. But tlie 
contemplation of those subjects which were to exert 
such an important bearing on her whole existence, 
both for time and eternity, effected no change in the 
discharge of her every-day duties, which were per¬ 
formed with the same regularity as ever; but the 
days which followed were marked by greater quiet¬ 
ness and a more evenly balanced temperament, 
which her parents noticed, but did not comment 
upon. Great was their joy, however, when tliey 
learned her determination; and when they went up 
to partake of the blessed ordinance together, the 
feelings of grateful happiness that filled their hearts, 
as they received the sacred emblems of the Chris¬ 
tian’s faith as commanded by the Saviour, it would 
not be easy to find words to describe; it was the 
foretaste of that heavenly love which is the antici¬ 
pation, as it will be the fulfilment and perfection, 
of eternal joy. 


170 


MARGARET GORDON, 


And now, as time rolled on in the calm monoto¬ 
ny as heretofore, Margaret, although her labours 
were rather increased than lessened on account of 
her parent/s health, was conscious of a sense of hap¬ 
piness never before experienced. She was now in 
her sixteenth year, and although much of the merry 
thoughtlefesness of childhood had left her for ever, 
it had been replaced by a quieter and deeper source 
of pleasure. We have already mentioned her great 
love of flowers and enjoyment of Nature’s beauty; 
but now it was not mere external attraction that 
gave her pleasure: she found a truer and deeper 
meaning written on all the works of the great Cre¬ 
ator than in former years she had been able to see 
or understand; for these things were not only 
made to please the eye—they were signs of the love 
and care of God, and her maturing mind read this 
spiritual language inscribed everywhere—a lan¬ 
guage which all may read. But it is only the truly 
enlightened who can recognize a Father’s hand in 
providing such a home for liis creatures. The 
efforts so early made were now bringing their re¬ 
ward, and Margaret was gradually awakening to 
the perception that religion adds tenfold to the en¬ 
joyment of life, as it takes tenfold from its bitter¬ 
ness. . Her ways are indeed ways of pleasantness; 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


171 


the yoke of Christ is indeed an easy yoke. No 
words were ever more true. But the “ways’^ must 
be entered on betimes; the ‘^yoke’^ must be sub¬ 
mitted to in youth; and happy is it for those who 
are just beginning life to be persuaded that it is so, 
and, like Margaret, yield themselves to the service 
of God, which is the only true freedom. 

Dear young reader, who ever gave himself to 
God in the spring-time of life and repented in the 
dreary winter of old age ? Who ever looked back 
on the years gone by and grieved that he had 
been devoted to his Saviour ? AVho ever lay upon 
his deathbed, eternity opening before him and the 
sentence of judgment awaiting him, and did not 
turn with thankfulness and love unutterable to the 
remembrance that amidst all his manifold im})er- 
fections he had been enabled, whilst his heart was 
yet untainted by grievous sin, to offer himself, his 
soul and body, to be a reasonable, holy and lively 
sacrifice to him who is the Lord of all, and by 
whose death he was redeemed ? 

It was a great blessing that Margaret Gordon 
had thus early chosen the good part which '^cannot 
be taken away for it made her happy, although 
one little cloud, like that which the prophet^s ser¬ 
vant saw, still rested on her life’s horizon—a cloud 


172 


MARGARET GORDON, 


caused by her anxiety respecting her father’s health 
But she knew that no one’s path is cloudless, and 
that trouble must sooner or later come to her as it 
comes to all; and when the future would loom up 
before her as it often did, she would also think of 
One who would never forsake her; and what trial 
could overwhelm when he was with her? Such 
faith as thi? is the privilege of every one who is a 
child of God. Clouds and gloom often shroud 
his way, but there is a clear, straight, sunshiny 
path marked out for him, that, like the fiery pillar 
which directed the steps of wandering Israel, will 
guide him through the wilderness of life to the 
rest of the blessed in heaven. 

Another year passed by, and the calm monotony 
of the Gordons’ life remained the same. Every¬ 
thing seemed to prosper with them. Their fruit 
trees in the little lot proved a source of great profit; 
the large pear tree that spread its branches over the 
cottage roof never failed its supply, and, to the 
mind of Margaret, everything seemed to wear a 
brighter hue. Never had she been so happy. The 
father had been so much better for many, many 
months that her fears on his account had at times 
nearly subsided, and she gave herself up to a calm 
enjoyment of the many blessings with which she 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


173 


was surrounded. Never had the field and trees 
looked so green; never had the songs of birds 
sounded so sweetly; and, to her who so dearly 
loved a garden, no employment was so delight¬ 
ful as to work among the bright and beautiful 
flowers which her own hands had planted there. 
And the old clematis, with which they had tried to 
hide the unsightly walls of the cottage, had fulfilled 
their wish, for, climbing and twining itself every¬ 
where, it shrouded all with its delicate drapery; 
its blossoms glittered like a snow-shower through 
the day, and in the night-time its perfume seemed 
like a breath from Eden. Their happiness was 
also increased by the security they felt that the 
little property was now really their own. Only 
one payment remained to be made, and that, from 
a late arrangement, would be more easily met than 
the first. Mrs. James’ son-in-law had one day, 
soon after receiving a payment, made his appear¬ 
ance unexpectedly, and after stating his reasons for 
desiring to anticipate the last payment, pleading 
urgent necessity and offering some advantages 
which were important to James Gordon, he, after 
some hesitation, suffered himself to he prevailed 
upon to grant the request. He pitied the man, and 
although he was a great lover of order and did not 


174 


MARGAHET GORDON 


like to have liis arrangements disturbed, he resolv(?d 
on this occasion to depart from Ids usual rule. A 
young farmer in the neighborhood, who preferred 
an easier life than tilling the ground, had sold his 
farm and had some money to put out on good se¬ 
curity, and was only too happy to lend the money 
to one like James Gordon, whose character for 
probity, honesty and strict regard for truth was so 
well known that every one who knew him declared 
that his word was as good as his bond. He re¬ 
ceived the money, for which he gave his note, made 
young Williams happy in the reception, and fore¬ 
boding nothing from an act done in the spirit of 
kindness, went back to every-day life with his usual 
cheerful spirit. 

The circumstances of the Hardings and Martha’s 
undertaking a service had furnished frequent sub¬ 
jects of conversation in the neighbourhood, and had 
also been discussed in the home circle of the Gor¬ 
dons. One evening, after Margaret had returned 

from C-, where she had met and conversed 

with Martha, she mentioned having done so, and 
then, as is usual in such cases, each one had some 
opinion to give as Margaret detailed such portions 
of Martha’s disclosures as involved no breach of 
confidence. 



OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


175 


think tliat Martlia might have found some- 
thing better to do than going to be a servant/’ said 
Mary; I would not care how hard I had to work 
at home, but it seems to me to be dreadful to have 
to be a servant/’ which sentiment was echoed by 
Kobert. 

Pier motive is a high one,” said Mrs. Gordon, 
and deserves much praise; and, if she views her 
present station as a special allotment from Heaven, 
in the relation she holds to Miss Marshall she 
may do a great deal of good, not only to the suffer¬ 
ing old lady herself, but to the many poor to whom 
she carries the alms which her mistress regularly 
sends.” 

“ But, mother,” urged Mary, Miss ^larshall 
keeps other servants, and if Martha’s work is only 
to wait on her, people won’t know that. And then 
she will have to sit at times with those servants, 
and talk to them, and associate with them and their 
friends. It is dreadful for such a gi-rl as Martha 
Plarding to have to do this. Oh, mother, you 
would not like if our Maggie had to go to service.” 

Perhaps not,” said her mother, ‘‘ but we have 
always to do a great many things we do not like, 
and make the best of what we cannot alter. I 
might once have considered going to service in the 


176 


MARGARET GORDON, 


same light that you do, Mary, but I think very 
differently now, for I am assured that every event 
of our lives is through the direct orderings of God’s 
providence; and, although often, as in the case of 
the Hardings, seemingly severe, are sent in love, 
but our eyes are blinded and we cannot always 
see what are his purposes whilst we are passing 
through those seasons of trial and difficulty. I am 
convinced, now, that the education that God gives 
is just the most suitable for the one who receives it, 
and it is our duty to accept the w^ork, and do it 
cheerfully, too; for in doing his work we also do 
his will. And has he not willed Martha Harding’s 
place in Miss Marshall’s family ? and may not the 
trial of going to service be made a means of mercy 
to her? Pier religious education has not been 
much attended to; and now, in a place where she 
will hear and see nothing but what tends heaven¬ 
ward, she may also learn to look upward for the 
help and guidance so necessary in the wearisome 
journey of life, and which the fervent prayer of 
faith is sure to obtain.” 

But, mother,” urged Mary, “ I know that Miss 
Marshall is considered very good and is always 
giving to the poor; but they say, too, that she is 
awful cross and irritable.” 


177 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 

“ That may be, Mary, for no one is perfect; but 
she is a great siitferer, and has passed through sore 
afflictions,” replied the mother. do not sup¬ 
pose that Martha has a very easy life, for Miss 
Marshall must, from her bodily suffering, require 
much attention, and she will be much confined ; 
but what of that if the discipline she is undergoing 
is a purpose for her good ? Is it not the work 
which, in great wisdom, has been allotted to her? 
Cross words, it is said, are meant to make us gen¬ 
tle, and delays teach patience, and care teaches 
faith, and press of business makes us look out for 
minutes to give to God, and disappointment is a 
special messenger to summon our thoughts to 
heaven. If Martha will now only try to learn 
God^s lesson in them, she may see the time when, 
in looking back over the life she has passed, she 
may declare that, if life could be lived over again, 
and she should be offered her choice of its trials, 
she would ask for precisely those which had been 
sent her.” 

Mother,” said Margaret, Martha told me 
that, although. Miss Marshall Was very irritable, it 
was because she had so much pain.; she had really 
become attached to her, for, withal, she was so 
good. The worst part of it was that she was con- 
12 


178 


MARGARET GORDON, 


sidered and felt herself to be a servant. She re¬ 
ceived good wages—enough to make her mother 
comfortable—but Mrs. Harding could not be re¬ 
conciled to her remaining in such a position.’’ 

James Gordon, weary with his day’s work, was 
lying back in his arm-chair seemingly asleep, but 
now he aroused himself and took part in the con¬ 
versation. 

am sorry,”-said he, ^Hhat Mrs. Harding 
yiews the matter in such a wrong light. It is our 
duty to do the will of God, no matter what is the 
kind of work to which we are called; and Martha 
has done right in assuming her present duty as 
being her definite task, since there was no other 
one that she could undertake. Circumstances—by 
which we often mean the providences of God— 
have put this duty in her way; and if she will 
only attend to it in a proper spirit, I have no 
doubt but that in the end she will be able to see 
that all is for the best. Our first duty, in any 
change that we may meet with, is resignation to 
the will of God. One duty brings another; the 
first begun, a second will follow, and then many 
more, until they are spread over a wide circle.” 

“ But, father,” said Margaret, “ we may not 
always be able to see our duties. I am sure I did 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


179 


not at first see that it was Martha’s duty to go to 
Miss Marshall, for I think it is lowering her po¬ 
sition, as she will be looked upon as one* of the 
servants. If they- could only have kept a few 
fields of their large farm, no matter how poorly 
they had to live or how hard they worked, it was 
still better than living out.” 

I agree with you, Margaret,” replied her 
father, that one feels more independent living in 
their own house than in that of a stranger; but 
we are not talking of what might have been better, 
but of present duty—the duty that belongs to 
Martha’s change of position. I know that it must 
be a great trial to her, but it need not necessarily 
be a degradation. I trust she will not allow her¬ 
self to sink to the level of a certain class who go 
out to perform the menial work of families, and 
with whom^ in a manner, she will be obliged to 
associate. She may do them good by her conver¬ 
sation and kind behaviour, and secure their good¬ 
will by maintaining her own self-respect, at the 
same time keeping to the duties of her present 
sphere, but dignifying it by the conduct proper to 
the worldly position to which she was born. 
Worldly forms and distinction of classes exist in 
every rank of society; and they are unquestionabiy 


180 


MARGARET GORDON, 


right, for they are fully recognized in the Bible; 
and neither education nor Christian principles re¬ 
quire us to overlook these distinctions. Besides, 
are we not all servants ? Do I do not teach for 
hire, and mother, there, sew for hire? Does not 
John Brown and Squire Green work for the sake 
of the reward of their labour? Every one has his 
separate work to do; but the question is whether 
it shall be well or ill done. And the Bible j^oints 
out very clearly how every class is to be content 
in its proper place: kings and subjects, masters 
and servants, parents and children, all are ordered 
to rule or be ruled, and yet again and again spoken 
of as one—one body, one building—all performing 
their requisite parts in the completion of the work 
placed before them. The children of God’s family 
are never without duties—sometimes very hard 
ones. But I have long ago been taught to feel 
that to work for him is so great an honour that it 
makes the meanest task noble; and so, when he 
has put such a claim before Martha as is this 
endeavour to aid her mother, it is impossible it 
should be a degradation, because it is a work of 
his own appointment. It is ourselves that do or 
do not make the degradation by the manner in 
wnich we perform or neglect our duties. I have 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


181 


often before spoken to you of the honour of belong¬ 
ing to God’s family, and the comfort of feeling that 
we are trying to fulfil the duties consequent on 
such a relationship; for, at the same time that we 
are spoken of as servants working for, waiting, 
watching for their Lord, a higher blessedness is 
vouchsafed in the title given us as friends and 
children.” { 

I should like to feel that I was always work¬ 
ing for God; but I think it is a very hard task to 
find out exactly what are our duties, for we are 
often swayed by that which we like best or which 
seems easiest,” said Margaret. In such a case as 
Martha’s, if left to myself, I should not know how 
to act.” 

You have often read, Margaret, of the mode 
in which our Indians follow the trail of those 
whom they are pursuing or seeking, catching at 
every indication of a path, marking the bent twigs 
or the half-effaced footsteps on the grass, and even 
the tiny shred of a dress caught on the brambles. 
So must we, oftentimes in life, be contented to 
abide and search in the very spot where we are 
left for the very faintest indications of the path by 
which God is leading us to heaven. The trail of 
our duties may often be perplexed and hard to 


182 


MARGARET GORDON, 


find, but, if we will but follow the least claim 
which definitely presents itself, we may be quite 
sure that the mercy of God—foi: he never gives us 
a task which is too difficult for us to accomplish— 
will soon enlarge our sight and place us in the 
sphere for which we were intended. Our positive 
duties are often so small and apparently trifling 
that we neglect them in order to find out those 
that are better suited to our tastes, and are fretted 
because the work allotted us is so simple. Our first 
duty is to be resigned to learn the lessons which 
the providences of God are always teaching. This 
done, the second will follow, and so on until we 
shall find the trail of our duties, and then, if we 
will follow it earnestly, believing that in doing so 
we are doing God’s will, w^e will find the path 
grow plain every day, and at last pursue it, lean¬ 
ing upon him rather than trusting to human help, 
he will bring us at last safely and quietly to the 
end.” 

‘^Then, father,” said Mary, ‘^you think that it 
ought to be no trial, to Martha Harding to go to 
service ?” 

I did not say so,” replied her father, but it 
was the first really hard duty she has been called 
to. Every other path seemed closed to her; this 


OR aUV I FORGIVE? 183 

one seemed to be opened by Providence. Tell me, 
disqualified as slie feels herself for every other 
occupation by which she could maintain herself 
and aid her mother, do you not think she would 
have been wrong to let pride stand in the way to 
prevent her from entering on what seemed to be 
her first duty ? Do you not remember that we 
were not long since reading of Naaman the Syrian, 
who, when told to wash in the waters of Jordan, 
turned ^and went away in a rage,’ because he con¬ 
sidered it a degradation ? It was humbling to his 
pride to be commanded to do such a simple thing; 
if Uhe prophet had bidden him to do some great 
thing,’ no matter how difficult or at what cost, he 
would have obeyed ; but in his refusal to perform 
that one simple duty, he was near losing the bless¬ 
ing he most desired.” 

No more was spoken for some minutes; the 
silence was then broken by Mary, who was as yet 
but half convinced, by saying: 

If I was in Mrs. Harding’s or Martha’s place, 
I never could forgive that Mr. Brandon for ruining 
them. I could never forget for a niinute that it 
was his fault that Martha has to go out to service.” 

It would not be so hard to forgive if one could 
altogether forget,” said Bobert; ^^but I heard Unclp 


184 


MAPMARET GORDON, 


John say, the other day, that Mr. Brandon did not 
intend to cheat the Hardings.’ He lost all he had, 
too, and is as poor now as anybody; just working 
at anything he can find to do.^’ 

I am sorry, Mary, to find you so hard to be 
convinced, and disposed to cherish an unforgiving 
spirit. It would be easy for us to forgive any or 
every injury if we could forget. But we are not 
told to forget, if by forgetting is meant that no 
offence has been committed. In such a case as the 
Hardings’ it would be impossible to forget; yet it: 
would be bad to allow themselves to dwell upon 
the wrong, for then how could they hope that God 
would forgive their sins ? There is but one way, 
however, of answering this question : God only can 
make rules and conditions which we are bound to 
obey, for he alone is perfect; and he has said, ‘ If 
thy brother trespass against thee rebuke him, and 
if he repent forgive him.’ But even if there is no 
repentance shown, and we are unable to forget the 
wrong, we are not the less obliged to forgive fully 
and freely; not ^seven times only, but seventy 
times seven.’ ” 

Margaret had remained for the most part silent, 
but she had been an attentive listener; leaning 
her head upon her hand and looking up into her 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


185 


father’s face, she did not lose a single word of what 
he taught the little group before him, but, like 
Mary, she kept all the sayings and pondered 
them in her heart;” secretly treasuring them there 
until a time should come when there might be need 
to bring them forth. Life was to her becoming 
very serious and anxious; a burden which nothing 
could altogether relieve, caused by anxiety respecting 
her father’s health, always weighing upon her heart, 
and a secret feeling which whispered that ‘‘days 
of mourning were at hand,” saddened and gave 
her a look of maturity which did not belong to her 
years; and she devoted herself to aid and serve him 
in every way that could most conduce to his com¬ 
fort. She worked harder than ever this summer, 
and regulated her whole conduct by a steady watch¬ 
fulness; so that she would not have, in thought, 
word or deed, to lay up one memory of self-reproach 
to add to the coming sorrow. Prayer was her 
pleasantest task — prayer was her only comfort; 
land whilst she entreated that her best rest might 
be found in the assurance of heavenly love, most 
fervent were her petitions that her father might be 
spared for many years, to bless and guide them by 
his wise and pious counsels now when life’s open¬ 
ing way made his guidance so important. 


CHAPTER X. 


DEATH IN THE COTTAGE. 

OAST not thyself of to-morrow, for thou 
111 knowest not what a day may bring forth,’’ 
rrn are words of mournful import, and many a 
sorrowful heart has acknowdedged the truth of the 
saying; for how many have been stricken to the 
earth just when most confident of bliss ! It is won¬ 
derful, too, that there is not more attention paid to 
their meaning, for no one is so happy or so con¬ 
fident in his happiness that he has nothing to fear.” 
•The winter had passed away, and the spring—that 
beautiful season which those who accustom them¬ 
selves to read the truths of religion in the silent 
language of Nature, cannot but view as the type of 
the Resurrection morning—the spring-time of * 
eternity,” when the treasures lost on earth shall 
be received again—had come and found the circum¬ 
stances of the Gordons unchanged; contented and 
industrious, they enjoyed a quiet and subdued hap¬ 
piness ; none, unless it might be Margaret at times, 
186 


1 


CAN I FORGIVE? 


187 


dreading that they were soon to experience the 
truth of the wise saying with which we have begun 
our chapter. No one of the family, not even the 
thoughtful mother, apprehended that anything more 
than the disability consequent on James Gordon’s 
crippled state ailed him, for he seldom complained 
and never neglected his duties. Margaret, who 
never had mentioned her fears to her mother for 
fear of alarming her, had, however, once spoken to 
Uncle John,” and asked if he had noticed any¬ 
thing particular as to her father’s health. John 
Brown was too honest to deceive; he told her he 
had observed the same symptoms which had awa¬ 
kened her solicitude, but also told her that he did 
not think there was any need of alarm. He added 
that he had, some months ago, taken James Gor¬ 
don to C- in his carryall, and they went to¬ 

gether to Dr. Harrison, who told him he had a 
disease of the heart; that there was no immediate 
danger to be apprehended—he might live for many 
years, and die of some other sickness at last. This, 
in a measure, allayed Margaret’s fears; and, as for 
many months after the conversation recorded in our 
last chapter, her father had seemed to be so much 
better, she had half dismissed her uneasiness, and 
gave herself up to a hope that there was no danger 



188 


MARGARET GORDON, 


to dread. The summer was coming, and with it 
would come the vacation. The doctor had spoken 
of rest as being beneficial; he could have rest then, 
and when the school reopened she resolved to take 
the largest share of the work upon herself; she was 
now seventeen and strong and well-grown; and 
with a will and energy of purpose peculiarly her 
own, she felt herself able to perform the task she 
intended, and her hoping spirit led her to anticipate 
the time as not far distant when the patrons of the 
school would admit her competency to teach, and 
then she could relieve her father altogether. The 
summer came—bright, beautiful summer—with the 
birds singing and the flowers blooming, filling the 
air with their sweet perfume, and with the rest it 
brought he still seemed to improve. The vacation 
was nearly over, and the school would soon recom¬ 
mence. 

Nothing had disturbed the peaceful life of the in¬ 
habitants of the cottage; they looked forward hope¬ 
fully into the future, for, as James Gordon’s health 
had been for months so much better, it would have 
been difficult for them to realize the danger that was 
approaching. He had lived much in the open air, 
and it had produced a most beneficial change. He 
was stronger, and declared himself better able to 


OR CAN I FORGlVEf 


189 


attend to the duties of his school than he had been for 
a year previous; and although sometimes that ex¬ 
pression of sharp pain which never escaped Marga¬ 
ret’s notice, which the others had not seemed to ob¬ 
serve, would pass over his face and leave him faint, 
it was only at intervals, with long spaces between. 
He was so calm, so quiet, so cheerful that it was 
not to he wondered at that the stream of their hap- 
l)iness flowed on pure and glad as the mountain rill, 
long hidden by obstructions, glitters brightly in 
the restored sunlight. The sword suspended by a 
single hair above their heads w^as, however, ready 
to fall. One Sunday, a short time before the end 
of the vacation, they all w^ent up together to the 
old church where they were accustomed to worship, 
to perform the all-important work of prayer and 
praise—to hear the word of God—to feed upon the 
bread of life. It was a lovely day; the sky was 
calm and serene; all sounds were hushed in .the 
breathing repose of Nature. No reapers were in 
the half-shorn fields, no merry cow-boy’s whistle 
was heard. All rural labour was at rest, and in 
the sacred quiet that reigned around It might have 
seemed that the motionless clouds, the blue vault, 
the fragrant air and the still earth were all united 
together in one sweet spirit of devotion. The scene 


190 


MARGARET GORDON, 


was beautiful, and deepened in interest as group 
after group was seen advancing on different paths 
toward the church, in front of which they met and 
exchanged friendly greetings; and, coming from ull 
quarters, seemed to represent the effect produced by 
the voice of the Good Shepherd calling his sheep 
from every part of the wilderness into his fold.” 
Most of the assembling congregation came on foot, 
some on horseback, and a few aged or invalid in 
rude carriages, but no haughty equipage swept 
haughtily by to mark the contrast between the rich 
and the poor. A distinction of rank was, however, 
visible, but it seemed to be softened down in this 
rustic community by one pervading spirit of hum¬ 
ble Christianity into an admitted brotherhood. All 
seemed to meet together in mutual acknowledgment 
that the Lord is Maker of all—that all are alike 
dependent creatures, looking up to one common 
Lather for the supply of all their wants, temporal 
as well as spiritual. Proceeding thus to the house 
of God, they took their seats in silent reverence; a 
psalm of the old-fashioned version was given out 
and sung by untutored voices, and although unac¬ 
companied by a well-trained choir or pealing organ, 
the rude melody mingled sweetly with the harmo¬ 
nies of Nature, and was echoed from the forest and 


OR CAN I FORGlVEf 


191 


.the valley to which the sounds had reached. It 
had been a happy day for the schoolmaster’s family, 
for their father had gone to church, and said that 
he was better than he had been for many weeks, 
was less fatigued by the walk than usual, and said, - 
too, that he had found that Sabbath a season of pe¬ 
culiar refreshing both to mind and body, and de¬ 
clared—using the words of another—that to him 
Sabbath days were— 

“ Types of eternal rest—fair buds of bliss, 

In heavenly flowers unfolding week by week ; 

The next world’s gladness imaged forth in this— 

Days of whose worth the Christian heart may speak. 

“ Days fixed by man for intercourse with dust, 

To raise our thoughts and purify our powers; 

Periods appointed to renew our trust— 

A gleam of glory after six days’ showers. 

“Foretastes of heaven on earth—pledges of joy— 

Surpassing fancy’s flight and fiction’s story; 

The preludes of a feast that cannot cloy. 

And the bright outcourts of eternal glory.” 

The evening came on, calm and beautiful, typi¬ 
fying the repose which aAvaits the believer at the 
close of life, when the burden and heat of the day 
are ended and the hour of rest has come. Very 
lovely was the scene around the cottage, and, as 


192 


MARGARET GORDON, 


it lay spread out iii holy quiet and bathed in the 
silvery moonlight, it invited the soul to sweet and 
solemn meditation. The shadows cast by the trees 
lay motionless on the ground; the dim, distant out¬ 
line of the fields, the fringed border of the dark 
forest, while here and there a cottage chimney rose 
visibly in the clear light, added to, the solemn 
beauty of that Sabbath eve. No sound disturbed 
the universal hush save the soft whispers of the 
evening breeze that played through the branches and 
wafted the perfume of the flowers through the open 
window. The pale yet vivid rays of a glorious 
moon shone into the apartment, from whence the 
lamp had been removed, and as they fell sparkling 
upon the waters of the little streamlet in front of 
the cottage, beamed emblems of the bright glahces 
of life and hope. The family, together with John 
Brown and his wife, were assembled in the little 
room where James Gordon was resting in his arm¬ 
chair, conversing on the things pertaining to spirit¬ 
ual life, which nourish the soul into strength or 
prepare it for coming conflicts. They spoke, too, 
of the goodness and the love of God and the won¬ 
ders of the Christianas faith, which opens the door 
of the invisible world, and makes the present and 
the things of the present to vanish from the sight, 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 193 

and eternity and the things of eternity to be all 
in all. 

What a blessed thing it is to believesaid 
James Gordon; for when God gives peace, who 
can take it from us 

^^ No one,’^ answered John Brown; for we are 
told that ^ neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor 
principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor 
things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other 
creature, shall be able to separate us from the love 
of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’ But 
Avhat is the matter ?” he asked suddenly, interrupt¬ 
ing himself and approaching quite close to James 
Gordon, as with a convulsive movement he started 
from his chair and fell back again. ^^Are you ill? 
Are you worse ?” 

The schoolmaster made no reply, but put his 
hand over his heart. All present started up in 
alarm, but at that moment a cloud passed over the 
moon, and, shrouding the room in darkness, they 
could not see his face. Aunt Hannah went for the 
lamp, and, as she entered with it, the moon broke 
forth again, but it shone on the calm face of the 
dead. Alice was a widow, and her children were 
fatherless! 

It is said that death, whenever it comes, is sud- 
13 


194 


HURQARET GORDON, 


den—a shock always stunning, always overwhelm¬ 
ing; but those to whose hearths it comes slowly, 
preceded by long sickness, pain and the anguish 
of suspense, have little to suffer in comparison 
with what those feel when the work of the de¬ 
stroyer is done in a moment—when one hour makes 
the home desolate, severs the ties of years and fills 
the heart with despair. Even when, after long 
suffering, the beloved one is removed from the 
domestic circle to the narrow grave, or when a 
long period of tedious sickness, calling for unre¬ 
mitting attention from increased affection, partially 
prepares for the final separation, the last dread 
change, death is often agonizing to the survivors; 
but when the blow falls suddenly, as it did in the 
case of the Gordons, oh who may speak of the 
agony such a death brings! And when, added to 
the deep sorrow within, comes the fear of the 
futu/e without, the worldly thoughts and worldly 
cares that will intrude, even in the bitterest and 
most sacred grief—when that loss brings inevitably 
with it the evils of poverty—then how doubly in¬ 
tense is the sense of anguish ! 

James Gordon had been highly respected by all 
who knew him; friends and acquaintances had 
learned to think his advice necessary, and that, 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


195 


without his judgment, difficulties could not bo 
arranged satisflictorily; and his quiet course of 
Christian consistency had won the highest regard 
of his rustic neighbours. He was followed to his 
last home with great regret and every testimonial 
of respect; and those who knew him best prayed 
that, when their summons should come, they also, 
like him, might have made their peace with God. 



CHAPTER XI. 

SQUIRE GREEN AND BROWN LIZZIE. 

t HERE was deep sorrow in the cottage of the 
Gordons—a darkness as of earth when the glad- 
^ ness of sunshine has departed—a stillness of 
desolation as when the whirlwind has passed by, and 
we sit alone to gaze upon the ruin it has made.” No 
sound of loud wailing broke the solemn stillness; 
their sorrow was silent and profound, but it was 
the sorrow of those who had learned in all things, 
whether small or great, to behold the hand of a 
God of love. Could the faith, the truth by which 
they had lived so many years desert them now, or 
fail to bestow the support and consolation so 
greatly needed in this deep affliction ? No; they 
looked up to God and rejoiced that the death of 
their beloved one had been so blessed and so peace¬ 
ful. The words he had spoken on that last Sab¬ 
bath of his life came to them again and again as 
soothing balm, of which neither time nor circum¬ 
stances could deprive them, although years must 

196 



CAN I FOBGlVEf 


197 


pass ere the loss they had sustained would lose its 
pang, or they should grow accustomed to the ab¬ 
sence of one to whom they had always looked for 
guidance and support. 

It has been said, and truly, too, that the poor 
have no time for sorrow. The rich can atford to 
indulge in the luxury of grief, but the poor, no 
matter how sharp the anguish attendant on their 
loss, have hardly time to hide their beloved dead 
in the cold, damp grave until they must resume 
the labour which daily wants make necessary. 
The schoolmaster’s family had always been accus¬ 
tomed to labour, and were ready to do so still, but 
there were now great anxieties respecting their 
future, which would painfully intrude themselves 
even in the first hours of their grief. Their home was 
not altogether paid for, but while their fatlier lived 
they had no uneasiness on that account, for, with 
his salary at the end of the year and the fruits of 
their united labour, the demand would be readily 
met. It was different now: greatly would they 
miss their father’s earnings; and, although they 
would continue their own exertions and use every 
means that prudence or economy might, suggest, it 
was impossible that they could pay off the claim at 
the specified time. They were anxious, indeed, but 


198 MARGARET GORDON, 

not really alarmed. Their creditor, they knew, 
was likely to be a patient one, for he had said that 
he preferred leaving the money invested in the 
little property to having it himself. 

I The shock which Alice had so unexpectedly 
received was, notwithstanding her steady faith, 
almost overpowering, and it is not to be wondered 
at that, when the funeral was over and she returned 
to her desolated home, her strength and courage 
failed, and that for a time she gave way to a tide 
of passionate grief, to which her quiet and subdued 
character had hitherto been a stranger, seemingly 
unconscious or heedless of the efforts made to con¬ 
sole her. This depth of grief, however, could not 
continue long; she had borne trials, cares and sor¬ 
rows, as all her fellow-mortals have to do, but her 
burden had ever been cast upon Him who had 
promised to sustain her; and now, although in the 
bewilderment of her sorrow lost sight of for a 
moment, her confidence returned, and she became 
calmly submissive to the decree of him who had 
seen good to try her faith in the ordeal of such a 
bitter sorrow. 

Troubles are said never to come singly; one fol¬ 
lows in the train of another. An epidemic fever 
had broken out in the neighbourhood and entered 


OB CAN I FORGIVEf 


199 


into the household of the Gordons. The mother’s 
health was never very strong, and the burden of 
grief and anxiety proved too great for her exhausted 
frame and made her a fit subject for sickness. In 
less than a fortnight after her husband’s death she 
was laid on a bed of suffering, which for the first 
few days, during the violence of the fever, her af¬ 
flicted family believed would prove also one of 
death. They were however spared this trial. The 
attack of fever, although violent and severe, was 
brief, but it left her in a state of long and painful 
convalescence, which required the most devoted at¬ 
tention of her children. It is in circumstances like 
these that a great effect is had upon the character 
of the young: as the sharp blow struck upon the 
rock discloses the rich and secret treasures of the 
mine, so it is that those who are afterward to per¬ 
form hard or higli duties, by some incident or blow 
of misfortune seem to step from almost childhood 
to the threshold of maturity. We have spoken of 
Margaret Gordon as being thoughtful beyond her 
years, conscientious in action, resolute in battling 
with and conquering self, and dutiful and obedient 
to her parents. It was not at all surprising that 
she was what we have described her; brought up 
as she had been, her thoughts had ever been be- 


200 


MARGARET GORDON, 


yond her years, partly from the superiority of her 
mind, even in childhood, and partly because she 
had lived almost entirely in the society of her pa¬ 
rents, and always employed in the grave pursuits 
belonging to older persons, she had associated but 
little with companions of her own age. But now, 
this great woe, her father’s death, her mother’s fee¬ 
bleness likely to be protracted to an indefinite time, 
the care of a blind brother and young sister, and 
the dread of having to leave the cottage because of 
the unpaid debt, aroused her to some sense of re¬ 
sponsibility imposed by this sudden change, making 
every previous trial light in comparison with the 
present, and she trembled to contemplate the future. 
And yet Margaret’s was no solitary trial. Hun¬ 
dreds on earth must at that time have been passing 
through the same sad experience. Life has hard 
lessons for all to learn, and it is happy for those 
who know where to go, as Margaret did—to the foot 
of the cross—the place from whence no true suppli¬ 
cant is never sent away unheard. She found her 
only relief from the burden that rested so heavily 
upon her in prayer. She prayed often and earnestly 
for strength and guidance in the path of duty, and 
that wisdom and patience might be vouchsafed to en¬ 
able her to face life in its new aspect, and meet its 


OB CAN I FORGIVEf 


201 


new claims in the spirit of a true Christian. Prayer 
always brings comfort, and Margaret felt its sooth¬ 
ing efficacy. Assured that she would not be for¬ 
saken, she suppressed her sorrow and awoke to a 
consciousness of power and strength. In this great 
crisis there came to her the wisdom and forethought 
that had until now lain half dormant in her nature; 
and although at times still sensitive and shrinking, 
she became a woman—one conscious that life is 
given for a great purpose—gentle and strong, meek 
and fearless, patient to endure, heroic to act. Silent¬ 
ly and perseveringly she endeavoured to soften her 
mother’s sufferings; and wearing a face of cheerful¬ 
ness while her heart was oppressed with a burden not 
only of grief, but of responsibility, she took sole 
charge of the household concerns, arranging every¬ 
thing with a view to future circumstances, but above 
all, indicating a submission to the will of God by 
example as well as encouraging words. The unwont¬ 
ed energy and resolution which she afterward had to 
use, and now, for the first time in her life, assumed, 
were not without their effect. Robert and Mary 
looked up to her for advice, and rendered the same 
obedience as they would have done to their mother; 
and even the forlorn widow experienced a lessening 
of her grief as she read courage and hope in every 


202 


MARGARET GORDON, 


feature of Margaret’s face. How little they thought 
that whilst thus cheering others, she was a prey to 
anxiety and herself grieving in silence! She could 
not bear that her mother’s necessary comforts should 
be diminished, but then there was the debt, the dis¬ 
charge of which seemed every day to grow more diffi¬ 
cult. Night and day it weighed upon her spirit. 
She formed plan after plan in secret, for she told few 
of them to her mother, fearing to pain her, for the 
most of them carried out would involve a separa¬ 
tion which in her present state of health she dare 
not propose. So she bore the burden in silence, 
and many a fear and many a prayer passed through 
her heart in the hours when her aching head rested 
on a pillow now unfamiliar with sleep. She had, 
however, the satisfaction of seeing her mother grad¬ 
ually returning to old habits and old ways; and her 
bright and hoping mind, always looking out for 
the silver lining of the cloud,” looked forward to 
the future, when holy calm and sweet and solemn 
peace should come in place of this wasting grief, 
and the mourner Avould go back to the outer world 
and concerns of common life, performing the duties 
which God requires of every one in proportion to 
the talents bestowed. This improvement, slight as 
it was, afforded her great relief, and urged her 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


203 


to further effort in her labour of love. Although 
she had no certain prospect of how their livelihood 
was to be obtained, and the consequent anxiety 
was' most wearing to her own spirits, she had still 
M'ords of cheering and comfort for her mother, and 
for herself the blessed privilege of kneeling in her 
own humble .chamber and telling her troubles to 
One. who is always near and ever ready to listen to 
them. 

Mother,’^ said Margaret one day, when Alice 
was so far recovered as to be able to sit up and sew, 
‘^do you know that I'have applied for father’s 
school, and have quite a prospect that I shall get it? 
So cheer up; we shall be able to live and keep our 
home too.” 

Alice looked up amazed, but did not speak, and 
Margaret continued: I always wislied to be a 
teacher, and a good teacher too, and that aim, under 
the blessing of God, it . is my fixed purpose to reach. 
I feel that I ought to be earning something, for the 
debt must be paid; and, as no one has as yet ap¬ 
plied for the school, and it seemed an opening, I 
summoned up courage and spoke to Uncle John 
and Mr. Upton about it. They both approved and 
2)romised to interest themselves with the trustees, 
and both have since told me that everything looked 


204 


MARGABET GORDON, 


favourable. There will be no difficulty, Mr. Upton 
thinks, except with Squire Green. I do not know 
why he should be the only one to object, for he 
knows better than all the others that I can teach, 
and helped father so much.’^ 

‘^They may think you too young for this school,’^ 
said her mother, ^G)ut since the effort must be made, 
it is best to try at once what can be done.^' 

I mentioned that to Mr. Upton,’’ said Marga¬ 
ret; but he said, although I was very young, that 
was an objection which would lessen every day; 
and as I could go on with father’s plan of teaching 
and the scholars knew me so well, my age need not 
be a very serious objection. He said I ought to go 
to Squire Green myself, but as I do not think I have 
courage enough to face him alone, he said he would 
go with me.” 

The first smile that had passed over the face of 
Alice Gordon for weeks was now visible, and that 
smile was very dear to Margaret’s heart, for it told 
of renewed hope; and hope, she had heard, was the 
best physician. But her answer was grave, as she 
acknowledged that it would indeed be providential 
if Margaret could get the school. But whilst she 
approved of her forethought and courage as exem¬ 
plified in making the application, she bade her not 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


205 


to be too sanguine. “ Remember, Margaret,” said 
she, it often requires as much resolution to bear 
disappointments as to make efforts.” 

The truth of this assertion became painfully ap¬ 
parent when days passed and no answer came. 
Every knock at the door made her heart tremble ; 
but even when a whole week passed by, she did not 
give up hoping. Ah! she did not know all the 
difficulties atttendant on efforts to make a living. 
She went to Squire Green; he did not give her a 
downright refusal, but said he would think about 
it and let her know. He thought she was too 
young to be stiddy enough, and though she had 
did very well in helping her father, she had failed 
once entirely at examination, and he was afeared she 
was not fit to teach such a school as theirs.” 

She repressed the angry reply that rose to her 
lips as she recollected the cause of her failure, and 
answered mildly that, although young, she fully 
understood her father’s mode of teaching, and felt 
herself able to accomplish the proposed task. 
Squire Green did not listen, but turned away ab¬ 
ruptly, saying that the matter would soon be de¬ 
cided. And so it was: in a few days it was known 
that the school had been given to an overgrown 
damsel, a near relative of Squire Green’s, whose 


206 


MARGARET GORDON, 


rule, totally different from that exercised by James 
Gordon, caused great dissatisfaction to the parents 
and raised a spirit of insubordination among the 
scholars. Margaret bore the announcement brave¬ 
ly. She was one of those whose spirit rises on meet¬ 
ing difficulties. She neither wept nor complained, 
although she felt the disappointment in the inner¬ 
most depths of her heart, but resolutely set herself 
to contemplate a new undertaking. Again a path 
was in sight. Two other district schools at no 
great distance were without teachers, and some one 
happening to mention it in Margaret’s hearing, she 
resolved to propose herself. The being obliged to 
be from home where she was so much needed was 
an objection; but she must be earning something, 
and with a new alacrity, observable in every motion, 
she began her task. She thought it best at this 
time to make application in w’riting, in which, as 
we before stated, she was a proficient, and therefore 
penned two notes with the greatest cajre and exact¬ 
ness, so that it might be seen that the new candi¬ 
date could at least write and spell correctly. These 
were sent, and with varied feelings she awaited an 
answer. In a few days the first came—an abrupt, 
rudely-worded epistle, containing a refusal—the ob¬ 
jections the same as those urged by Squire Green, 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


207 


Perhaps he had been at work there; but her 
mother would not admit the supposition. “ They 
had never/^ she said, done anything to provoke 
his enmity, and it was wrong to judge unkindly.’^ 
The second also arrived, bearing tidings of disap¬ 
pointment; but, kindly worded, it did not fall so 
painfully upon the heart. The character of her 
father both as a teacher and citizen was well known 
to the committee, and she could have had the school, 
but her application had come too late; the place 
was filled.’^ 

As Margaret read the letter aloud she saw her 
mother’s pale cheek grow paler and her hands 
tremble so that she could not sew. 

^^You have done all you can, daughter,” said 
she, ^^and I cannot see that we can do anything 
but sell the house, which I cannot bear to think 
of. Since your father is no longer here to help us, 
we cannot expect to pay off the debt by our little 
marketing and labour.. I have no hope. We will 
have to let our home pass into the hands of strang¬ 
ers, and content ourselves barely to earn food.” 

No, mother, we will neither give up our home 
nor want,” replied Margaret, her slight form di¬ 
lating with the earnestness of her manner as she 
drew herself up to her full height. “I can do 


208 


MARGARET GORDON, 


other things than teach school. Don^t you remem¬ 
ber how often father said, when we were trying to 
do something difficult and grew impatient if we 
did not readily succeed, that ^ where there is a will 
there is a way?’ Now, mother, I have a will, a 
courageous one, and never fear but that I will 
make a way.” 

What can you do, Margaret?” inquired her 
mother. Our way seems hedged up on all sides.” 

‘‘ Many things,” was the reply. I can go 
among the farmers and sew by the week, or even 
do housework if I cannot get anything else. In 
the mean time we can be content with little until 
the debt is paid; and, mother dear, times are not 
darker than they were on that stormy day when 
Mr. Berkly came to tell father about the school. 
How well I remember it, and what father said 
about faith, and how God often sent help by means 
most unexpected!” 

New comfort dawned upon the widow’s heart, 
borrowed from the hoping spirit of the child, who 
now promised to be her stay and support; and it 
seemed strange that one who had been so long ac¬ 
customed to look to her for advice and assistance 
should now be able to give her the counsel and 
strength she so much needed. 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


209 


Before Margaret had had time to enter upon any 
new course of action, an incident occurred which 
gave quite a different turn to their affairs. A day 
or two after the conversation just related had taken 
place, as Alice sat alone at her sewing, she was 
surprised at receiving a visit from Squire Green. 
Mary and Kobert had gone to the carding-mill— 
for they had some sheep of their own—and Marga¬ 
ret was busy in the garden, and she was not a little 
startled at the prospect of an interview with her 
formidable neighbour. His errand was soon made 
known. After condoling with her on her great 
loss and late illness in those stereotyped phrases 
which fall painfully rather than soothingly on 
the ear of grief, he handed her a soiled piece of 
paper which he took from a greasy-looking 
pocket-book, and proceeded to tell what brought 
him there. 

I s’pose you know, Mrs. Gordon,^’ said he, as 
Alice looked over the paper, that the schoolmas¬ 
ter borryM the money from Farmer Smith to make 
that last payment. Well, he^s been speculatin’ 
lately—makin’ ducks and drakes of his money— 
and got into a hobble, and was glad to sell the 
note of hand to me, so now you are in my debt, 
’stead of his. There, you can see it all figured out 

14 


210 


MARGARET GORDON, 


in black and white, and that the time for payin’ 
off is jist about up.” 

know it,” said Alice; ^‘and only for our 
great trouble and my sore sickness it would have 
been paid at the promised time. But funeral ex¬ 
penses and doctors’ bills are very heavy, and I am 
unable to pay the debt just now.” 

^^But I be to have the money at once—can’t 
afford to wait,” said Squire Green. I have 
boughten a bit of land off the Harding farm for 
sake of the wood. I need it for to carry on the 
’stillery, and they’ve been cravin’ me for the price, 
and I am sure you cannot expect me to let myself 
be pushed when I’ve money coinin’ to me.” 

should be sorry,” said Alice, 'Ghat you 
should have the least trouble on our account; but 
you need not fear that you will lose your money. 
As soon as my brother-in-law returns, I will get 
the money for you.” 

" He has been gone for months, I hear,” was 
the answer. " Like as not he’ll never come back; 
and if he does it will still be borry’d money, and 
I don’t see as how, with jist your sewin’ and gar¬ 
denin’, you’re ever to pay it. No.; the best thing 
you can do is to sell the house. I wouldn’t keer 
to buy it myself and pay off the debt. It’s a ter- 


OE CAN I FORGIVEf 


211 


rible thing, debt is. Then your next best plan 
would be to rent a couple of rooms somewhere, and 
you could go on with your sewin’. Robert, to be 
sure, could not do much, but the girls could live 
out, for help is so much wanted; and so you could 
get along nicely.” 

Alice, weakened by sickness and grief, knew not 
how to answer. She tried to speak, but the utter¬ 
ance of words was choked by tears. After a few 
moments of silence. Squire Green went on. 

I don’t like to be too hard,” said he, but I 
want money badly. I’ve had very bad luck with 
my cattle lately: two of my best cows died, and 
I’m lookin’ round for some good ones to buy. 
Now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. You’ve 
got a fine cow and some nice pigs: my wife has 
often said she’d give anything to have jist sich a 
cow, so I’ll take the cow and pigs at a fair price, 
and agree to wait a month or so for the rest of the 
money.” 

Alice now found words, and, wiping away her 
tears, said, Mr. Green, have you considered that 
we depend on the milk of our cow and our barn¬ 
yard stock almost entirely for our living ? How, 
then, are we to live this coming winter if we part 
with our cow and pigs ?” 


212 


MARGARET GORDON, 


^^Oh, you have near neighbours, and they will 
give you milk enough. It’s only a step to Brown’s, 
and they have half a-dozen cowsand, as he 
spoke, he arose with the air of one who has con¬ 
cluded a bargain with which he is well satisfied, 
and took his departure without waiting to hear 
Alice’s reply. He might- have waited a long time, 
for she had not heard half of his last speech. The 
unlooked-for visit, the startling fiicts and propo¬ 
sitions were too much for her weakened frame; 
and when Margaret came in an hour afterward, 
she found her lying on her bed in a high fever and 
talking incoherently. Greatly alarmed, she ran 
for Aunt Hannah, who advised that Dr. Harrison 
should be sent for. He came—wondered at the 
suddenness and violence of the attack. Could it 
be the effect of over-exertion? or had anything 
uncommon occurred to occasion a sudden shock ? 
He advised rest and quiet, and said that he hoped 
that with great care they could bring her round in 
a few days. 

Margaret sat all night at her mother’s bedside, 
listening anxiously to the murmurs that broke 
through the veil of her dreams, but could gather 
nothing to throw light on what had caused this 
sudden illness. On the evening of the second day, 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


213 


however, she was so far • recovered as to tell what 
had occurred, and expressed her dread of Squire 
Green insisting on taking the cow. 

He shall not take Brown Lizzie, mother dear,’^ 
said Margaret; so give yourself no further trouble 
on that subject;’’ and, leaving Mary to take her 
place as nurse, she ran over to tell the Browns 
what had happened, and ask advice. Uncle John 
was not at home; he had gone to Philadelphia 
market that morning, and would not be home for 
two days. Aunt Hannah bade her keep a good 
heart; Squire Green would surely not take the cow 
without saying something more about it; at any 
rate, not before her good man got home.” 

Margaret and her mother were not so sure; they 
started at every little noise, and looked anxiously 
from the windows; but Brown Lizzie, unconscious 
of danger, with her large, mild eyes and hairy, fea¬ 
tureless face, was still in quiet possession of her 
own premises. Two days passed, and Margaret 
began to think that her mother’s fears had led her 
to magnify the danger, and she began to breathe 
more freely. On the third morning, however, 
Alice, who was much better, was awakened by 
sounds from the barnyard which indicated that 
an angry discussion was going forward. The voices 


214 


MARGABET GORDON, 


of Robert and Mary, beard in loud remonstrance, 
were mingled with the gruff* tones of a man, who 
seemed to be doing something that displeased them. 
Forgetting her weakness, she started from her bed, 
and, looking out of the window, the scene without 
at once explained the cause of the uproar. Squire 
Green’s man was placing a halter round the cow’s 
neck, in order to lead her away, in spite of all that 
Mary and Robert could say; he had his “ordhers,” 
and must do as he was bid. The voices were 
silenced for a moment as she reached the window, 
and her heart was gladdened when she saw the rea¬ 
son. John Brown and Margaret had just reached 
the spot, and at once stopped the proceeding. 

‘^Why, Peter Murphy,” said the good man, 
“ what does this mean ? What are you doing with 
the widow’s cow ?” 

^‘Sure, thin, I’m only doing as the masther bid 
me,” said Peter, for it’s not myself that has any 
call to the widdy’s cow. I was just tould to fetch 
the halther and bring her away, an’ that’s all I 
have to do wid it.” 

“Just take the halter off the cow’s neck, 
Peter,” said John Brown, “and leave her where 
she is.” 

“An’ thin,” asked Peter, “ what’ll I do at all, at 


OR CAN ] FORGIVEf 


215 


all ? The mastlier bids me do one thing and you 
bid me do another, Mr. Brown; Ihn but a poor 
man, an’ if I go back to the Squire widout the cow, 
he’ll turn me away, an’ that’ll be the bad job. An’ 
sure, if he’s bought the cow, why should I lave her, 
when he sint me to fetch her ?” 

^^He has not bought the cow, Peter; I will go 
over with you and settle the matter with him. If 
he turns you away, 1 will find you a good place or 
employ you myself; so do not be uneasy, but take 
off the halter and go home.” 

‘^An’ will you give me work, yourself?” asked 
Peter, as he untied the rope from Brown Lizzie’s 
neck ; ‘^sure, thin, it’s the good turn you’ll be doing 
me, for the Squire is a very rapacious man, an’ it’s 
glad I’ll be to lave him. An’ I’m glad, too, that 
the baste is to stay, for it’s not myself that would 
mislist the widdy’s cow, barrin’ that being a poor 
man I must just do as I am bid.” 

The two departed, leaving Margaret to carry the 
good news to her mother, while Mary and Robert 
remained to caress and feed their dumb favourite, 
who testified her satisfaction at the favourable turn 
things had taken by a gentle moo!” 

It was not long until John Brown returned. 

Here, Mrs. Gordon,” said he, as he handed h.ei' a 


21G 


MARGARET GORDON, 


soiled paper, which she recognized as tlie one Squire 
Green had shown her, “ you can burn this if you 
like: it and the cow are your own now; you had 
best destroy it at once. You are not in anybody’s, 
debt now but mine, and you can pay it as it suits, 
and keep your home.” 

Uncle John,” said Margaret, ‘‘you have paid 
that debt for us at a great sacrifice to yourself. 
You have been saving money for some time to 
build an addition to your house, and Aunt Hannah 
has been wanting a new carpet, and now you will 
have to do without, because you have been so good 
to us.” 

“ What’s a carpet, or building of a room or two, 
to the turning of a whole family out of their home 
and destroying the labour of years?” said John 
Brown. “The house will do very well for a while 
yet; it would be well if everybody had as good a 
one. But I am hungry, and must go home to my 
breakfast; for, if anything can put Aunt Hannah 
out, it is having a meal spoiled by waiting.” 

And so, under the plea of wanting his breakfast, 
but in reality to escape from the overflow of thanks 
which would have been showered upon him, he 
hastened homeward, leaving Margaret and her 
mother to feel that God never forsakes those who 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


217 


trust him, and to acknowledge that the events of 
this day had shown them that there is no night of 
sorrow so dark to which there will not come sooner 
or later a bright and happy morning. 



CHAPTER XII. 


LIGHT AND SHADOW. 


r 

ill ROM this clay Alice grew better, and began 
lit to assume her family duties. It is a blessed 
thing that time heals all griefs, even the bit¬ 
terest; for a long-indulged sorrow, for the dead or 
any other hopeless loss, would deaden our sympa¬ 
thies for those still left, and make a sinful apathy 
steal over the soul, absorbing the powers which 
ought to be devoted to the service of God, and rob¬ 
bing life of the enjoyment which is ever to be 
found in the discharge of the work to which we are 
called. Many refuse to be divorced from the sor¬ 
row brought by death, and cling to the oppressive, 
mournful recollection of past joys, not comprehend¬ 
ing that He who knows the extent of the trial never 
sends it but in mercy, and that with God to com¬ 
fort none can ever be really desolate. As the 
bosom of the earth blooms again and again, having 
buried out of sight the dead leaves of autumn and 

loosed the frosty bands of winter, so may the heart 
218 


CAN I FORGIVEf 


219 


rejoice in many renewed springs and summers/^ for 
existence is itself a great blessing, particularly to 
those who endeavour to fill it up by working for 
God. 

Yet there were times when despondence could 
not be altogether banished. They all did what 
they could in the way of industry, working until 
far in the night, at the same time living most fru- 
gaily; trying to lay up something toward the pay¬ 
ing of the debt. The mother spun and sewed; 
Mary still braided straw and made palm-leaf hats ; 
Robert, in addition to his mat and basket-making, 
had learned to knit, and, never idle, added no little 
to the general stock. We have said little of the 
blind boy, but we must speak of him now. He 
was like a girl in gentleness and domestic skill; 
feeling the misfortune of his blindness deeply, but 
never making it an excuse for idleness, he did 
everything he could to lighten the labours of the 
rest. His mind was of a higher tone than ordinary, 
and he was naturally silent and thoughtful. He 
loved to carry his work out of doors, and in the 
warmth of the material sun worship that Sun whose 
light he saw in the hidden world of his heart, and 
who is the Sun of all the worlds; to breathe the 
air which, through the prison-bars of his blindness, 


220 


MARGARET GORDON, 


spoke of freedom, and look forward to the hour 
when the hand of a loving Father should, in re¬ 
moving him to a better world, withdraw the veil 
of darkness and bid him see. Margaret had made 
many efforts to gain employment, but in vain; she 
therefore did what she could by assisting all the 
rest at home and carrying marketing to town, but 
all the time she was forming plans which she told 
to no one, and endeavoured to learn lessons of trust 
from the remembrance of the mercy which had fol¬ 
lowed her all her life. Had there been no debt to 
pay, they could have managed by their summer 
labours to lay up something for the wants of win¬ 
ter ; but the wish to pay their kind friend often 
made them very anxious. But, while they thus 
used all the means that frugality and economy 
could dictate, they did not despair, for they knew 
how such a feeling cramps the energies even of a 
strong mind, and induces the very evils which are 
dreaded. There were times when Alice, on see¬ 
ing how slowly the little fund increased, would 
give way to fits of despondence, but they did not 
last long, for Margaret’s hopeful spirit encouraged 
her, together with the rest, and they all worked on, 
patiently waiting until better days should come. 

One bright day, when all was smiling in the 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


221 


beiiuty of early autumn, Margaret set out on her 
usual errand of carrying marketing to N—^—. K^a- 
ture is ever a minister of happiness, and on this 
morning her influence was most plainly felt by the 
schoolmaster's daughter. Her basket was heavy, 
and feeling tired she sat down on a fallen log to 
rest, and as she did so was conscious of happier 
feelings than she had experienced for some time— 
holy feelings which sprang up responsive to the 
teaching of Isature. Beautiful was the wide ex¬ 
panse of country that lay beneath the morning sun¬ 
shine—a peaceful earth, which seemed smiling 
back the smile of heaven.’’ All spoke loudly of 
the goodness of God—all told of a loving, working 
obedience to an Almighty will; and, filled with a 
humble devotion, she felt herself willing at any sac¬ 
rifice to answer to the call of Him who has made 
this beautiful world, and at its completion saw 
that it was very good,” and who will always afford 
Ills children strength equal to their day. Tears 
sprang to her eyes, but they were tears of soothing, 
not of sorrow—such as she had not for a long time, 
perhaps never, shed before—and as she gazed up¬ 
ward into the almost cloudless sky, she felt her spirit 
drawn nearer to heaven when she thought of her 
father—he whom she so dearly loved and who loved 



222 


MARGARET GORDON, 


her—keeping a guardian’s watch over her from the 
glorious mansions there. She took up her basket 
and proceeded to the house of Mrs. Ainslie, a 
wealthy lady, who for some time had been the pur¬ 
chaser of all her marketing. Situated rather in the 
suburbs, the house, spacious and elegant, stood at a 
little distance from the road, half-hidden by mag¬ 
nificent trees. The grounds in front and at the 
sides, ornamented with rare shrubbery, were ar¬ 
ranged with perfect taste and kept in the best order. 
A broad gravel-walk led up to the high marble 
steps of the portico that formed the front entrance, 
and was guarded by two grayhounds cast in bronze. 
Margaret had never been admitted by this way, but 
by a small gate at the side, which opened upon a 
path that led to the back of the house and kitchen 
premises. She now made her way to a small room 
that opened from the dining-room, where, as usual, 
she found the cook, who talked all the time whilst 
she was emptying the basket. 

‘^We are in a great muss just now,” said she; 
the nursery-maid has gone off in a huff, and the 
coloured waiter is sick at home, and Norah, the 
chambermaid, is as cross as a bear, and says she has 
too much to do, and will go off too if Mrs. Ainslie 
does not soon get somebody.” 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


223 


Caii^t you always get some one asked Mar¬ 
garet ; “ I should think you might without any 
difficulty/’ 

You may well say that/’ replied Dolly, ^^for 
money, and there’s plenty of that here, will get any¬ 
thing; but Mrs. Ainslie won’t have everybody. 
She gives the highest wages and wants to be well 
served. But I most forgot. She said if you came 
to-day to tell you she wanted to see you; so I’ll just 
let her know.” 

Mrs. Ainslie came almost immediately. Her 
dress was simple and neat, and her personal appear¬ 
ance so extremely prepossessing that Margaret, who 
had scarcely seen her until now, at once yielded to 
the most favourable impressions. Alas ! that they 
Avere destined to undergo so sad a change! Her 
business with the schoolmaster’s daughter was soon 
made known. After the usual remarks on the in¬ 
gratitude of servants, she proceeded to inquire if 
Margaret knew anything of a young girl named 
Lizzie Wells, who had been highly recommended 
by a person she had lived with as being both honest 
and capable. 

The lady could not tell me exactly where she 
lived, but said it was somewhere in the neighbour¬ 
hood of E-Church, and as I knoAV that you 



224 


MARGARET GORDON, 


also live there, I preferred to ask you what was the 
character she bears about home.’’ 

excellent one,” replied Margaret: “the 
family go to the same church that we do, and every¬ 
body speaks well of them.” 

“ Do you know if she is at home ?” 

“ I saw her at church last Sunday,” said Marga¬ 
ret; “so it is likely that she is not at service just 
now.” 

“ I am obliged to ask you to do me a favour,” 
said Mrs. Ainslie; “ my coloured servant is sick, 
and I have no one by whom I can send word, be¬ 
cause I do not know how to direct them. Would 
it be out of your way or put you to much trouble 
to ask her to come and see me just as soon as pos¬ 
sible, for I must have some one immediately? and 
you may tell her that I will give her seven dollars 
and a half a month, and, if she pleases me, more.” 

Margaret replied that although her way did not 
lay directly past Mrs. Wells’ house, she could, by 
going a little round, see her within a few hours and 
without any trouble. 

“ Send her, then, at once; I must know by to¬ 
morrow, as I cannot wait.” 

Margaret, as she proceeded on her homeward 
way, pondered over the occurrences of the morning, 


OR CAN I FORGlVEf 


225 


and her mind was filled with many thoughts. 
‘‘Seven dollars and a half!” said she; “that is 
clear gain. If I could get that in addition to what 
the others make at home, we could soon clear the 
debt.” 

Having reached the spot where she had rested in 
the morning, she sat down and pursued the train of 

thought awakened by her visit to C-. When is 

the tempter not busy, and are there any to whom a 
conflict with his attack is spared? The tempta¬ 
tions natural to us from the dispositions with which 
we are born follow us through our whole lives; 
and w^e have already spoken of Margaret Gordon 
as being ambitious and attaching an undue regard 
to the possession of money; and now, as she sat 
there, she felt as if she half envied Lizzie Wells 
the prospect of living in that beautiful house—such 
a contrast to her mother’s cabin—and an amount 
of wages that to them would be positive wealth. 
“ How silly I was not to propose myself for the 
place!” said she to herself. “ I know I would suit 
quite as well, for I can do many things that Lizzie 
cannot. Suppose I don’t tell her about it, and go 
right hack and engage with Mrs. Ainslie myself? It 
would not be any harm to Lizzie. She can always 
get a place, for having always lived out, she is w'ell 
15 



226 


MARGARET GORDON, 


known. I have made np my mind to live out, for 
if 1 do not we will have to give up our home, and 
then I do not know anybody. It is true that I 
have not seen much of Mrs. Ainslie, but I have 
served her fora long time, and she pays so liberally 
and is so prepossessing that it will hardly seem like 
being a servant to live there.^’ 

Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed 
lest he fall.^’ Margaret Gordon was a good girl, 
but no one is perfect—no one able to resist the 
tempter’s force unless strongly fortified by grace. 
How would she determine? Would she, who had 
gone on so many steps in the way of right, turn to 
deliberately take one in the way of wrong? An 
important one it might be, for, if successful, it 
would be the first step into a new life; and can a 
blessing rest upon any work commenced in an im¬ 
proper spirit? She was not one given to linger, 
for there was always so much to do at home; but 
now she remained buried in her own thoughts, not 
conscious of how quickly the minutes were passing 
—those short minutes that might afford space for 
a determination the after-thought of which might 
cause many a severe pang. No one is secure from 
the power of temptation, which is ever lying in 
wait for the unwary. Margaret’s temptation to act, 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


227 


as we have statccl, might seem a trifling one to 
many, but it is always the first step that costs or 
tells.’’ Had she yielded, what trouble might it not 
have brought? But the Bible tells us that no one 
is tempted above that he- can bear, and that with 
the temptation is always sent a way of escape. 
But, as we have shown, a struggle sincere and 
ardent had begun in Margaret’s heart; not the in¬ 
constant effort of a heart clinging to this world 
whilst feebly desiring lieaven, but the steady deter¬ 
mination that, cost what it might, be the labour of 
conquering her natural propensities ever so ardu¬ 
ous, she would devote herself to it in faith, and, 
with assisting grace, endeavour to prove herself 
worthy of the Christian’s high calling. She was 
not left to fall. The day was bright and beautiful, 
the clouds sailed slowly amid the blue, and there 
was no sound, not even the singing of birds, to 
break the perfect quiet that brooded around. A 
scene of sweet, quiet loveliness lay spread out be¬ 
fore her, and its sweetness passed into her soul and 
awakened all the better feelings of her nature. 
She forgot the subject of her present anxiety, and 
recognized the love of God, who has prepared this 
beautiful dwelling-place for his creatures, and tinged 
every object with a light more glorious than the 


228 


MARGARET GORDON, 


sunlight under which they lay. All spoke of his 
power and his wisdom. His goodness and his 
love, and the contemplation of the lovely land¬ 
scape, led her thoughts to Him who, the Creator of 
the universe, is infinitely more glorious and greater 
than them all. The momentary mist passed away 
from her soul; conscience spoke, and her voice was 
not unheeded. Ashamed and self-condemned that 
she had even for a moment deliberately harboured 
a thought of wrong, she started up and hastened 
onward to do her errand at Mrs. Wells’, and ob¬ 
tain another conquest over self. A lesson of simply 
doing right for the present and trusting to God for 
the future was put before her, and, difficult though 
she found it to be, she was resolved, with the help 
of assisting grace, to do it. Most faithfully did 
she detail all that Mrs. Ainslie had said, mentioned 
the high wages and her own impressions of the de¬ 
sirableness of the place. But was she sorry when 
Mrs. Wells shook her head and said— 

It is too late. Lizzie went to Farmer Daw¬ 
son’s some days ago. It’s a good place, and 
although she don’t get such big wages as you say, 
she would not leave it to live with the quality, for 
the farmer’s folks just made her one of themselves, 
and the quality do not care about their helps, only 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


229 


just to get as mudi work out of them as they pos¬ 
sibly can/^ 

When Margaret returned home she told her 
mother everything that had occurred, and how she 
had for some time been ruminating on various 
plans by which they might be able to meet the 
family expenses and pay the debt yet resting on 
the house. 

You know, mother,’^ she said, we can^t do it 
on what we sell from our little garden or the sew¬ 
ing-work, which we don’t get constantly; and I 
have been thinking, now, since you have got so 
much better, that since I cannot get a school, try 
as I may, like Martha Harding, I will look for a 
place and live out.” 

Mrs. Gordon did not at once reply, but Mary 
did. 

Live out as a hireling servant! our Margaret 
live out!” she cried. Mother, don’t let her do 
any such thing!” 

‘^No, mother,” said Eobert, ^^we can’t spare 
Maggie; what are we to do at home without her ? 
Please, mother, do not let her go.” 

‘^Why, Maggie, what will Aunt Maxwell and 
everybody say when they hear that our Maggie, 
A\dio is so well fitted for a school-teacher, is gone 


230 


MARGARET GORDON, 


out as a servant?’^ again urged Mary. And the 
Greens and the Burtons, and all the rest—they 
will all say, Maggie, that you do not think much 
of yourself.^’ 

i I think too much of myself to remain at home 
in comparative idleness when we have a debt to 
pay,’’ replied Margaret. If we wish to keep our 
home, we must w’ork to pay what is still owing on 
it ; and I see no other way in which it can be so 
readily done as by my taking this place, for the 
wages, together with my board, are a great deal 
more than I could earn by my needle, and is, be¬ 
sides, sure and constant.” 

^^But it’s living out, Maggie,” said Robert, 
‘‘and you will be considered and called a servant, 
and have to be one of the kitchen-folks. If poor 
father had never got hurt, we might now be rich 

and living in N-, as we used to. Do not go— 

w^ait until next year, and I am sure you will get a 
school; but do not live out.” 

“ Children,” said their mother, at last, “ do you 
consider that if wx wish to pay this debt to Uncle 
John and keep our home, we must work in some 
way or other in order to do so.” 

“But living out!” cried Mary, scornfully. 

“ What is the harm of Margaret’s or any one’s 



OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


231 


taking every honest means of doing a present 
duty?’’ asked the mother. ‘^Have you thought 
how much we would lose by living week after 
week and month after month, waiting and wishing, 
and after all finding ourselves no nearer to the 
object of our wishes ? Is it not better to go reso¬ 
lutely to some honest work in order to earn the 
riieans for the desired end ? Many shrink from 
the performance of positive duty by thinking, ‘I 
cannot do so and so,’ or ^ What will people say ?’ 
and thus allow themselves to rust away in useless¬ 
ness, wasting the precious time given them for 
most imj)ortant purposes, when a little independent 
exertion would place them in positions of trust and 
importance.” 

But, mother,” said Mary, not yet convinced, 
everybody says our Maggie would make a first- 
rate teacher, and I have always thought that she 
would be somebody yet, father took so much pains 
to teach her everything. Don’t you think there is 
something for her to do besides living out?’ ” 

We have all for many years been accustomed 
to labour at something in order to live,” said Alice, 
gravely, yourself and even Robert assisting, and 
you have never thought yourselves disgraced by it, 
‘ Living out’ is only a different branch of labour, 


232 


3IARGARET GORDON, 


and I do not know of anything which degrades it 
but the character of the labourer; and Margaret can 
preserve her integrity and self-respect quite as well 
serving in Mrs. Ainslie’s nursery as in presiding 
over a school. She will also have quite as good an 
opportunity of learning the ^ great art of self-con¬ 
trol and self-sacrifice, and patient effort,’ so needful 
to help us on in the toilsome journey of life, as 
she would in admonishing, correcting or teaching 
dozens of untutored minds over which she might 
be called to rule.” 

“Let us ask Uncle John and Aunt Hannah 
what they think of it ?” said Robert. 

“ No,” was the reply; “ it would be very im¬ 
proper to do so, because they would perhaps liot 
like to answer as they would do if the debt was 
not owing to them.” 

“ Then, mother, you wish her to go ?” was 
Mary’s inquiry, which, however, received no an¬ 
swer, for the conversation was at this point inter¬ 
rupted by the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Upton, 
who came often to see the bereaved family, and 
their visit just at this time was particularly wel¬ 
come. The subject in hand was freely discussed, 
but we will not weary our readers with a detail of 
the conversation. Mr.^ Upton’s views of the mat- 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


233 


ter were nearly tlie same as those expressed by 
James Gordon in relation to Martha Harding’s 
undertaking—going to service implied no real 
degradation in the eyes of those whose good opin¬ 
ion is worth having. You are all doing some¬ 
thing to support yourselves. Margaret has for a 
long time been trying to qualify herself for a 
teacher, but it seems that, unless she should go far 
from home, she has no prospect of getting a school 
at present. But she is not willing to remain in¬ 
active until better times come, but is contented to 
make efforts for securing such advantages as are 
within her reach, or, in plain speech, to work at 
anything honest to aid in keeping a permanent 
home for her family. Now, I cannot see how any 
honest work, in the attainment of such an end, 
ought to lower her in her own estimation or in 
that of anybody’s else. The well-judging would 
rather applaud than censure.” 

“ My greatest trouble is, that in such a different 
life Margaret might be led away by bad example 
or evil advice,” said her mother; she is so young 
to go out into the world alone.” 

If we are called upon to live with only those 
who are religious, there would be comparatively 
little to try the siiicerity of our profession or genu- 


234 


MARGARET GORDON, 


ineness of our faith/^ rejoined Mr. Upton. “But 
it is very seldom that such a position is provided 
for any one: God makes us his children; he sets 
before us good and evil, life and death. He gives 
us good instructions, and promises to aid with his 
Holy Spirit when we pray to him ; and then he 
places us,, as it were, in a battle, with temptations 
before and behind and around us, and bids us to 
fight and conquer. Margaret now goes forth to 
this battle of life—a battle in which all must share 
—hut armed and sustained by the principles incul¬ 
cated in her whole previous life. She must be 
watchful and wary, that she strays not from the 
true path, and so bring dishonour on the cause she 
now professes to serve.^^ 

“ Then you think it right that Margaret should 
take this service said Mary. “ It’s dreadful to be 
treated as an inferior, and have to associate Avith 
low people; we have had to work, and work hard, 
too, all our lives, but we have never associated with 
any but respectable people.” 

“ Margaret, if she takes the place, need not sink 
herself to the level of those ordinary servants whom 
she .may occasionally be obliged to meet with ; but, 
by maintaining a proper Christian demeanour 
toward tliose who may not have had the same ad- 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


235 


vantages as herself, she may do them a great deal 
of good. It is true that she may at times feel that 
her position is less pleasant than it was here, in 
this rustic community; but she must remember that 
distinctions exist in every rank of society, and that 
neither education nor Christian principles require 
us to overlook these distinctions; and I have no 
fear but that Margaret’s good sense and good edu¬ 
cation will keep her from venturing outside of her 
own proper sphere. You say she is to have the 
charge of little children; I am truly sorry to lose 
her from my Sunday-school, but she can carry a 
missionary spirit into the nursery of the rich, and 
sow seeds of truth in those young minds which 
shall grow up into unfading wreaths of far more 
worth than the conqueror’s crown. The natural 
distinction, too, between the employer and em¬ 
ployed does not re vent the exercise of friendship 
between them; outward deference to those above 
us in society ought to be freely accorded, for, 
although belonging to the things of this world, it 
is an obligation rendered sacred by the ordering 
of God’s providence, and forms no barrier against 
securing the affection and confidence of those above 
us. A good and faithful girl, who does her duty 
not as ^eye-service,’ but rather to obtain the 


236 


MARGARET GORDON, 


‘ honour’ which comes from God only, will be 
sure, sooner or later, to win confidence and regard. 
Read the epistle of Paul to Philemon, which 
bears much upon this subject. We are told that 
Onesimus was a runaway slave; Paul was a gen¬ 
tleman by birth and education; yet was Onesimus 
to be received 'not now as a servant, but as a 
brother beloved’—a brother because born to the 
same heavenly inheritance, and working, though 
still a servant in the eyes of men, for the same glo¬ 
rious end. Difference, therefore, in worldly rank 
need not, if both parties possessed proper princi¬ 
ples, prevent an interchange of those Christian 
sympathies which grow out of the laws of Christian 
kindness, and are calculated to add to the happiness 
of every one, let their situation be ever so exalted 
or ever so lowly. ' Bear ye one another’s burdens, 
and so fulfil the law of love,’ was an admonition 
given in the early days of Christianity, and is as 
binding now as then; and if every one, no matter 
what his rank in life might be, would walk by 
that ride, humanity would be shorn of half its 
trials, and consequently relieved of much of its 
sorrow.” 

Margaret had said little, but she had listened at¬ 
tentively, and every word spoken by her good pas- 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


237 


tor had sunk deeply into her heart. Her tears 
flowed silently, for her great natural pride revolted 
from the idea of servitude. Her lot, although a 
very humble one, had been one of independence, 
and in that rustic community the family was on 
equality with their neighbours; and she knew 
that going to service would lower her, as it 
had done Martha Harding, in the estimation of 
most. This thought, however, did not deter her 
from her purpose; and, as she listened to Mr. 
Upton’s words, she determined to perform any duty 
which might be required of her, considering herself 
not as working for man, but for God—not as a 
member of human society, but as a fellow-citi¬ 
zen with the saints and of the household of God. 

Make me to go ever in the path of thy command¬ 
ments” was a text which she now recalled ; and with 
this prayer upon her lips and this wish in her heart, 
she resolved to pursue her course of service if she 
should obtain the desired place. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

MARGARET LEAVES HOME—ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS. 

A|vARGARET had not long to wait before her 
111 anxiety about the situation was relieved, 
Mr. Upton, who was acquainted with the 
Aiiislies, gave her a letter, which was a strong re¬ 
commendation and caused her immediate engage¬ 
ment. The last evening at home passed off better 
than might have been expected. No one could feel 
very cheerful, but all tried to look on the bright 
side of her departure—the prospect of her being 
sucli a help to her family; and none would allow 
their minds to dwell too much on the thought of 
the sad blank which the absence of her bright face 
and cheering voice would make in the family circle. 
Mr. Upton and the Browns came in to say good¬ 
bye,’’ and speak words of encouragement to the one 
who was going forth to tread in an unknown path 
«f life, all the thorns of which were hidden from 
sight in the distance, and cheering to -the lonely 
ones left behind. They remained until the time 

238 


CAN I FORGIVEf 


239 


for prayers came. The pastor read the third chap¬ 
ter of Colossians and afterward added a few words 
on the duty of those, who became servants to an 
earthly master, showing how no service can be 
faithful unless it is performed from the heart, and 
how, while they fulfil their duty to an earthly mas¬ 
ter, it should ever be with the remembrance that 
they are serving a yet higher authority, and there¬ 
fore it must be done in singleness of heart, fearing 
God. And when they kneeled in prayer, he com¬ 
mended her earnestly to the keeping of that God 
who has promised to care for the seed of those that 
have made him their trust. He prayed that she 
might be kept under his protecting care and never 
be suffered to fall into any kind of sin, but, ever 
mindful of her Christian calling, be enabled through 
grace to do always that whi^^h was lawful and right, 
letting her light so s'hine before men that others 
might see it, and so be led to glorify her Father in 
heaven. Next morning, John Browm came with his 
carryall for Margaret and her trunk, and she shortly 
afterward found herself in the little back room be¬ 
fore mentioned. Few words had been spoken on 
the short journey, but those of his leave-taking 
were characteristic, and showed the native kindness 
of his heart. 


240 


MARGARET GORDON, 


I will call and see you sometimes—that is, if I 
don’t be in the way.” 

‘‘ You in the way ? No, indeed. Uncle John ! 
you can never be anything but welcome.” 

‘•You are a good girl, Maggie, and I am sure 
• you will get along, although you will be sure to 
meet trouble sometimes. But just let me say one 
thing before we part: I often told your father that 
I would be a friend to you all after he was gone; 
and I can only say now, if ever you want anything 
come to me, and if I can help you, I will. So 
make yourself easy about your mother and the 
others; we shall all feel glad to help and cheer 
her.” 

A few minutes afterward, Margaret found her¬ 
self in the parlour, whither she had been summoned 
to meet Mrs. Ainslie, and where she was wellnigh 
dazzled by the elegance of the surroundings. Tall 
mirrors reached from the ceiling to the floor, the 
carpet seemed like a bed of flowers too- beautiful to 
be trodden upon, and the sunlight, softened by the 
rich, dark crimson curtains, fell upon the pictures 
that adorned the walls and tinged them with a rosy 
hue. Mrs. Ainslie, dressed in the most fashionable 
style, was seated in a deep-cushioned chair, covered 
with green velvet, reading a novel; and all was so 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


241 


wonderfully bright that it seemed more like a 
dream than reality. She bowed slightly, without 
rising, suffering Margaret to remain standing whilst 
she made up the sum of her own requisitions. We 
will not weary the reader with the already well- 
known scene of hiring one either for servant or 
governess. Mrs. Ainslie was, although a very 
weak woman, a person of refined and polished 
manners, and now her tones were as soft and gentle 
as though she was entreating a favour rather than 
demanding a service; and Margaret’s prepossessions 
were not diminished at present, whatever they might 
be in future. As she stood whilst Mrs. Ainslie was 
specifying the numerous duties expected from her, 
she saw a door in front of her unclosed and two 
little faces appear, one above the other, in the open¬ 
ing. The upper one belonged to a girl of j^erhaps 
seven years old, and, with a profusion of golden- 
hued curls and a pair of laughing blue eyes filled 
with an expression of fun and frolic, was perfectly 
lovely. The other, that of a boy much younger, 
was equally beautiful, with black eyes, full of mis¬ 
chief, and a rosy little face glowing and merry, 
brightened all day long by universal favour, both 
looking as happy as if there were no nursery rules 
to be observed or commands to be obeyed. Mrs, 
16 


242 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Ainslie noticed the interruption, and, turning 
round, exclaimed, laughing: 

Oh, you naughty darlings ! who gave you per¬ 
mission to leave the nursery at this time of day? 
But, since you are here, come and speak to your 
new nurse. Come, Gracie; come, Philip — my 
pretty pets—be good children now. Do come, and 
please mamma.’’ 

But Gracie and Philip had no notion of being 
good children” or of pleasing mamma” at that 
time, for the only answer to the request was by 
slamming the door and a boisterous laugh on the 
outside. Mrs. Ainslie arose, and opening the door 
continued her solicitations, but without effect. The 
merry shouts and laughter which accompanied the 
little pattering footsteps on the stairs were the only 
reply. At length both died away in the distance, 
and Mrs. Ainslie, looking a little ashamed as she 
returned from her bootless errand, once more ad¬ 
dressed Margaret. 

Dear little things!” said she, how I do love 
the sound of their merry voices ! They seem rude, 
but are only bashful; and as I like children to be 
perfectly natural, I have not the heart to put any 
restraint upon them. But I must .tell you what I 
expect of you. My children are all backward in 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


243 


their studies—at least people tell me so—but I do 
not care for any one’s opinion. Besides, I do not 
see the use of depriving the poor little things of air 
and play and free exercise for the sake of tasks and 
lessons, or sacrificing their ease and comfort to de¬ 
vote the time to books. Let them enjoy the sports 
of childhood as long and as fully as possible. It is 
but a short period, and then there will be time 
enough for tasks. I hope you will get along well, 
but you must attend to your duties without expect¬ 
ing me to be always reminding you of them. In 
the first place, the children are always to be kept 
neat and clean; you are to see that their wardrobe 
is in perfect order; if anything, is wanting, let me 
know, for they must always be dressed well. I 
want you to help Louisa with her lessons; she has 
a governess, who ought to come every day, but she 
requires to be aided in preparing her lessons, and 
I cannot bear the trouble of going over school ex¬ 
ercises with a child. As I understand you have 
had some education, I dare say you will be able to 
assist her; the governess is very unpunctual. The 
little ones are to be taught entirely by you. You 
will take your meals in the nursery with Grace 
and Philip, for I want you to be with them all the 
time. You will be somewhat confined—you know 


244 


MAEGARET GORDON, 


I told you so—so you must be content to stay with 
them in the evening, as well as in the day-time, for 
you know the baby must never be left alone/’ 

Margaret was still standing; she felt weary and 
miserable, and she shrank a little from the prospect 
before her. She had no reply to make, and Mrs. 
Ainslie continued: 

I like tlie children to go out whenever the 
weather is pleasant; but sometimes, if the baby 
cannot go or if you are too busy, the chambermaid 
will take them. I want you, however, to do as 
much sewing as you can, for in a family like mine 
there is always a great deal to be done. I suppose 
you, coming from the country, do not know any¬ 
thing about embroidery ?” 

Margaret was more startled than at first. She 
thought, with the entire charge of four children 
and their wardrobe, there was little more that she 
could do, but she answered quietly that she could 
embroider, although she had not done much of that 
kind of work lately, but that she would try to fulfil 
all her duties to the best of her ability. But even as 
she spoke she remembered to have once seen a mule 
who was employed, by some men who were repair¬ 
ing a causeway, in carrying sand; the animal had 
a wooden pannier fitted upon its back, and was sent 


OR CAN I FORQIVEf 


245 


to and from the sand-hank to a cart, which waited 
to be loaded, at a distance of about eight hundred 
yards. She had often watched the poor creature 
as it trudged to and fro across this measured space 
doggedly and patiently, pausing at the one end of 
its journey to receive its burden, and at the other 
end to be relieved from it, and pausing for nothing 
else. Margaret thought of this mule w^hilst Mrs. 
Ainslie was speaking; yet she had not the least 
idea of shrinking from her undertaking, for she had 
an important end in view, and resolved to bear 
meekly whatever difficulties she might be called to 
encounter. She had known hard work all her life, 
and she was not to expect anything else now. Mrs. 
Ainslie was about to give further directions, but was 
interrupted by visitors. Bidding Margaret touch 
the spring of a bell to which she directed her, a 
neat Irish girl almost immediately appeared, whom 
she addressed as Norah, and bade her go with Mar¬ 
garet to the nursery. The way led up a handsome 
flight of stairs to a room in the third story, which, 
having reached, Norah opened the door and bade 
her enter. It was strikingly neat, as w^as, indeed, 
every part of the house; but its greatest attraction 
was the prospect from the windows which over¬ 
looked the garden—a spot which, under the care of 


246 


MARGARET GORDON, 


a skillful gardener, was kept in the finest order. 
The room was furnished with a maple bedstead with 
chintz curtains, a bureau, a crib and cradle—in which 
lay a fine baby of nine months old—and all other 
articles requisite for tire comfort of its occupants, 
for Mrs. Ainslie prided herself on having every¬ 
thing comfortable for those around her. But it 
was more for the gratification of her own pride than 
a higher motive, for she could not realize that a 
servant might want anything more than pleasant 
rooms, good food and high wages, and considered a 
place in her house as the most desirable situation 
any domestic might wish. She was rather easy- 
tempered, hating trouble, but worldly and selfish, 
with a desire to shine conspicuously in the circles 
of fashionable life. A foolish love of display 
and ambition to outdo every one in the splen¬ 
dour of her entertainments and elegance of dress, 
had brought into subjection every other feeling and 
wish, and caused her to lose sight of those high 
moral principles which should be in every heart 
the rule of action. By no means unamiable, she 
yet did harm often by thoughtless remarks; and 
although she would never have troubled herself to 
•seek out cases of distress, her purse was always 
open when any one called upon her for relief. She 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


247 


was liberal by nature and from habit, and to give 
was far more easy than to refuse; besides, she had 
money at eommand, for her husband was a man of 
great wealth, and, wholly immersed in business, he 
left everything subject to her control. But with 
all this liberality, and never scolding at her servants 
for negligence, she yet did not hesitate to exact the 
utmost amount of labour from a yielding domestic, 
and, priding herself on her good management, boast¬ 
ed of and held up her exploits in that way as pat¬ 
terns for imitation. 

This is your room and the baby^s,’’ said No- 
rah; those other doors open to the children’s 
bed-room and the play-room. Mrs. Ainslie’s is 
the frgnt one on the floor below, for she likes to be 
out of the way of the children herself, though she 
don’t care how -much bother they are to others. 
Do you like children, Margaret?—for I believe 
that’s your name.” 

‘‘ Yes, very much,” was the reply. 

All the better for you, for it’s more than I do,” 
said Norah. You have not come any too soon 
for me, for I have had more of the nursery* than I 
like. The baby is a good little thing, but the’ 
others are the very sorrow—first one thing is wanted 
and then another, as you will find out,’.’ 


248 


MARGARET GORDON, 


How very pretty they are!” said Margaret, 
who did not know what else to say, her instincts of 
propriety leading her to check a conversation the 
tone of which she thought was improper. But 
Norah went on: 

‘ Pretty is as pretty does,^ and when they are 
dressed up I like well enough to take them out to 
the square, for the folks notice them ever so much. 
I do it often when the nurse is busy sewing. But 
I heard the cook say you were a good seamstress.’’ 

I have always been accustomed to sew a great 
deal,” said Margaret, modestly. • 

So much the worse for you, for the more you 
do the more you will have to do, that I can tell 
you; the mistress is good pay, but she understands 
getting the worth of her money out of any one. 
But it’s nothing to me, you know,” she added, 
checking herself as she noticed Margaret’s grave 
demeanour, which did not invite such free remarks, 
and made her feel that she was doing wrong; 
‘^you’ll find it out soon enough for yourself;” and 
then opening one of two doors, she continued: 

^^This is the play-room or nursery, and is a nice 
enough place if the children knew how to behave. 
That biggest one, sitting by the window, is Miss 
Louisy; she’s to be humoured in everything, right 



First View of the Nurseuv 


Page 249 
















































































































































































































































































































































»' *l.;.;5l^ . i)l'» ^ ..Vr T{>|J 1c? , . 

:iV/?o rr h'-fn »liyy .4^in0[' ’• 

■^y>/1 ](t iK‘‘ftKirr!;j(t I'iH 

, . • »i^»>>r (HUO^ ;rfr/‘H’ ^^r^^;^fl^v;iJ »>"An>, 

O) ^ 54 'T;,>V# . 

• - , . '’•'' ■' - 1 ; '- 

ai uH -^mwtor ' 

fe(«ar> !fii-T jfi^f ^v/.of; ._?>^ )3«.'f 

,'• 'f'’‘“''‘v •/> ■■ '• ii •".'■?■ • - :* 

^ ' oM‘•£>vn;nfy 

k ■' ' .' . -''"S 'y,' + ~ .^'"W ■ ' ■ 

* W; ' 

-^ymk »y^ . 'Mf 

•r^v ' >/ • ■ . *'i»v>v 

■ Mai?^ri- ’ r.^i'cr 

imm ^-.h Aisif t^it'^ hjt -• 

- -M/Ofr .^4 MM Jo'; :.'t.|r <a"T 

.;-M. <^•!^ ‘.. \ U>l ' >(1 ^bmi 

^vl;? r. -.,.yf.,n<‘.^ h.MJl. 

,bti^vi,-}|fii-' mjI ;(?<.;-i.JfFjfWt hM ,v -Hil-biig 



OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


249 


or wrong, because she’s not in good health. Master 
Philip, there, likes to have his own way, and he gets 
it too, for he’s never to he crossed, for fear—his 
mother says—it will make him moping, and boys 
ought to have spirit; and that other one. Miss 
Grace, will keep you busy in watching her: she’s 
got a will of her own, and is humoured in every¬ 
thing because she’s pretty, and crying would spoil 
her face. She’s never out of mischief, and worse to 
manage than all the rest put together. There is 
the bell; I must go now, but I will come back as 
soon as Mrs. Ainslie is ready for her ride, and help 
you to get acquainted with the children. Here, Miss 
Louisy, and you. Miss Gracie—here’s your new 
nurse. Come, Gracie, do he good for once, and 
come and speak to Margaret.” 

“I won’t,” said Grace; ^‘just go away; we are 
done with you.” 

‘‘ Goodness knows I am glad of it,” said Norah, 
as she left the room hastily, as if rejoiced to get out 
of it. 

The appearance of the apartment was in nowise 
calculated to throw discredit on the statements 
made by Norah, for it was a picture of disorder. 
Picture-books and toys were scattered on the table 
and the floor in wild confusion; the inkstand had 


250 


’MARGARET GORDON, 


been upset on the carpet; a stool, overtiirnecl, was 
lying with its face to the floor—all presenting a 
sight by no means calculated to lessen the feeling 
of home-sickness which was spreading itself over 
poor Margaret’s heart. Grace, with a shower of 
golden-hued curls round her lovely face, was sitting 
on the floor in the middle of the room, busily em¬ 
ployed in destroying her last new toy—a barking 
dog, or, rather, a dog.that would never bark again, 
as its pedestal had been broken open to see where 
the bark came from.” Mrs. Ainslie never pun¬ 
ished her for doing such mischief as this, because 
she thought it was the result of an inquiring mind, 
which is never content without finding out the 
cause of everything. Master Philip was in a cor¬ 
ner behind his eldest sister, playing with a favourite 
kitten, round whose velvet paws he was winding 
some bright-coloured worsted which he had, unseen, 
abstraeted from a basket standing on the window- 
seat. Pussie did not seem to like this ravelins^ 
play very much, and would have scratched if the 
operator were any one but Philip; but she was 
used to him, and perhaps had learned, like Norah, 
that the Ainslie children are not to be crossed.” 
Louisa, a delicate-looking girl of eight or nine years 
of age, sat in a low rocking-chair near the window. 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


251 


embroidering a pincushion in worsted. Less beau¬ 
tiful than Grace, she at once attracted Margaret’s 
interest, for it was a sweet, pale face, with an ex¬ 
pression of premature intelligence and feeling in 
her large dark eyes, making her look older than she 
really was, and seemed to show that her stay on 
earth was most likely to be a painful if not a short 
one. There were a few minutes of silence after No- 
rah left, which was first broken by Louisa, who, 
rising from her chair, approached Margaret, and in 
a voice of singular sweetness and, with winning gen¬ 
tleness of manner, said ; 

“Are you Margaret, who is to be our new nurse ?” 

“ I am Margaret, Miss Louisa, and I hope you 
will like me, for I will do my best to please you,” 
was the reply. 

“ I am sure I shall like you,” said Louisa; “ but 
do you love to read, and can you tell stories—I 
mean stories out of books ?” 

“ I love to read, perhaps only too well for a nur¬ 
sery servant,” said Margaret, half smiling; “ and at 
home we often told stories that we found in books 
to each other, in the evenings, after our work was 
done.” 

“ And will you read to me and tell me stories 
when I ain’t well?” 


^52 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Yes, Miss Louisa, as often as I can find time 
to spare from your mamma’s work.” 

The child’s intelligent face, 'which had bright¬ 
ened under Margaret’s ready assent, was somewhat 
clouded as she heard the last words added; per¬ 
haps she knew how far, on this condition, her 
wishes were likely to be gratified, and anticipated 
disappointment, for she returned to her seat and 
remained silent. Margaret went into the other 
room to take off her bonnet and shawl, where, to 
her great surprise, she met Norah just entering, 
her curiosity to know how Margaret was getting 
along with the young plagues” overcoming her 
dislike to children and the nursery. 

Did iver!” she exclaimed, as she saw what the 
children were doing—did iver anybody see such 
a mess as is here? Gracie, ain’t you ashamed to 
spoil that pretty dog that your Aunt Fanny gave 
you two days ago ? Why did you not give it to 
Master Philip, who would not ruin it as you have 
done ?” 

I won’t give him my dog, at all,” cried Grace; 
“I’ll put him in the closet with my broken wax 
doll. Oh, Norah, he won’t bark any more ! Please 
tell me what made it go away.” 

“What went away?” inquired Norah, as she ad- 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


253 


vauced to the corner where Philip was maintaining 
a conversation with the kitten, while he continued 
to ravel the Berlin wools. 

The bark, Norah; the bark,’’ replied Grace. 

I only made a hole here and there, and my pretty 
dog won’t bark, let me do as I will. I only wanted 
to see where the bark came from, and I can’t find 
out.” 

I guess not,” said Norah, for he’s kilt, an’ no 
two ways about it; you’ve sp’ilt the poor thing 
intirely. How would you like it if somebody 
would make holes in your neck, just to see how 
your voice came? But, Miss Louisy, just look 
what a mess Master Philip has made of your 
mamma’s worsteds, winding them round the kit¬ 
ten’s feet. A pretty job you’ll have, Margaret, to 
get them unwound.” 

You sha’n’t—you sha’n’t!” cried Philip, as No-? 
rah rather rudely took hold of them. I’ll tell 
mamma.” 

The chambermaid, however, conquered; but the 
noise awoke the baby, who began to cry loudly. 

I’ll feed her for you this time,” said Norah, as 
she lifted the infant from the cradle, for she’ll be 
strange with you at first, I suppose, but ’ll soon 
get used to youand, taking a covered pitcher 


254 


MARGARET GORDON, 


and silver cup from the mantel-piece, she showed 
Margaret how the nursery lamp was to be used 
and the baby’s food prepared. 

Philip had by this time forgotten his defeat, and 
was riding round the room on a cane. Grace had 
thrown the dog aside and was tossing a ball, to the 
manifest danger of the looking-glass and windows, 
and Louisa sat poring over her book and examin¬ 
ing the pictures. Margaret scarcely knew how to 
begin to conciliate these undisciplined children, but 
an effort must be made. 

Come here. Master Philip, won’t you, and show 
me your pretty cane ?” said she. 

I won’t—I don’t like you—you are ugly,” was 
the reply. 

Grace laughed loudly, but Louisa reproved: 

Ain’t you ashamed, Philip, to be so naughty ? 
I’ll tell mamma.” 

“ Do, tell-tale,” said Grace; who cares ? Mam¬ 
ma will only laugh, for she always says she likes 
us to have fun. I am sure she laughed enough the 
day I put the cold pennies down Norah’s back and 
made her jump ever so.” 

Yes,” said Norah, ^^but she’d better have pun¬ 
ished you, for you are getting so bad that after 
a while nobody will have anything to do with you.’^ 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


255 


Margaret, while Norah attended to the baby, 
had picked np the things from the floor and was 
arranging the room, even while trying to conciliate 
Philip and Grace. Louisa noticed it and seemed 
pleased. 

Mamma won’t say you are stupid; she can’t 
bear stupid folks,” said she,.half smiling; “and' I 
am sure she will make Grade behave herself.” 

“ If she does, it will be something she never did 
yet,” said Norah ; “but I must go now in earnest;” 
and as she spoke she gave the baby to Margaret; 
but the little one shrank from a stranger. 

“ Miss Louisa, will you not come and play with 
your little sister?—she is afraid of me,” said Mar¬ 
garet. 

“I don’t feel like playing just now; let Grade 
amuse her,” answered Louisa, in a peevish tone. 

“ I won’t,” said Grace; “ she’s cross, and 
scratches. I’d rather run and play in the garden.” 

Philip had by this time regained the kitten, and 
when Margaret asked him, with a smile, “ Will 
you not come. Master Philip, and let baby see 
pussy ?” he complied at once. 

Margaret, glad to have advanced one step, en¬ 
tered into conversation with him, and, not thinking 
it too much trouble to amuse him, readily adapted 


256 


MARGARET GORDON, 


herself to his taste and nnderstanding, told him a 
kitten story, which interested them all, and shed 
sunshine where lately all had been discord and con¬ 
fusion. The baby got over her shyness, and played 
bo-peep” with Philip. Louisa forgot her lan¬ 
guor and Grace her mischief, and much of Marga¬ 
ret’s home-sickness abated and was lost sight of in 
the effort she was making to rise above annoyance, 
and in accordance with the precepts taught in 
God’s holy Word, diligently to perform her duty 
in the station to which he had appointed her. 
They were all clustered around her when Mrs. 
Ainslie entered. 

Why, you have become quite sociable already,” 
said she; I am very glad of it. Children, you 
must be very good and do as Margaret bids you. 
Louisa, as your governess is sick, you must say 
your lessons to your nurse now; and you, too, my 
pretty Grade. You do not know what a sweet 
child she is, Margaret—a little mischievous some¬ 
times. You must try to make them love their les¬ 
sons, or you will never be able to manage them. 
Poor Miss Train did not get along well; she was 
too impatient. My children always seem unable 
to do anything they do not love. I suppose it is 
because their feelings are so ardent that their minds 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


257 


cannot act except in concert with their tastes and 
affections. I therefore wish them to be ruled by 
love, and not have them made rude by stern dis¬ 
cipline, for rudeness is perfectly intolerable to me. 
Louisa, you can come down stairs with me for an 
hour, or until after teaand then kissing the others 
for good-night,’’ she left the room. 

Margaret found it a most difficult task to amuse 
these untrained children, and was completely tired 
out when bed-time came. She looked around the 
beautifully furnished rooms, and thought how pre¬ 
ferable was her mother’s humble cottage, where were 
love and peace. Her estimate of the value of 
wealth, and the amount of happiness conferred by 
it, had much diminished in the course of the day, 
and she would gladly have exchanged the luxurious 
food now provided for her and her gay surround¬ 
ings for the homely toil and simple fare at which 
she had been so often tempted to repine. When 
the hour for bed-time came, she undressed Philip 
and Grace, but before putting them in their cribs, 
she asked them if they would not say their prayers. 
The poor little things had never been taught to 
pray, and did not seem to understand what she 
meant; but when she told them of One who was 
once a little child and loved little children, and 


258 


MARGARET GORDON, 


who would always take care of them, they were 
willing to be taught. She hesitated as to what 
might be her duty, but Mrs. Ainslie had said she 
would leave the children altogether in her 
chargeand remembering that the duty she owed 
to God, who placed her in her present position, 
was paramount, she resolved to pursue the mis¬ 
sionary course spoken of by Mr. Upton, and, 
although only a servant,’’ try to make such an 
impression upon their immortal minds as might 
fit them to act their parts in life with nobler mo¬ 
tives and higher purposes than those which gov¬ 
erned their world-loving mother. How her heart 
warmed to the little creatures as, in their white 
dresses, they knelt beside her, and, folding their 
little hands, repeated from her teaching those sim¬ 
ple words of prayer which constitute the first pe¬ 
tition of every child who is taught to pray ! Won 
by her gentleness and awed by her reverence, even 
the volatile Grace offered no opposition, but yielded 
gently to its influence and got quietly into her bed 
without her usual romping. 

Philip, as she laid him in his crib, put his little 
arms round her neck, and, kissing her for good¬ 
night, said, He won’t let Indian Peter come now, 
will he?” 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


259 


Margaret did not exactly understand, but as 
every one in that neighbourhood knew that “In¬ 
dian Peter^^ was a bugbear used to frighten chil¬ 
dren into good behaviour, as was the name of the 
lion-hearted Richard by the Saracen mothers, she 
guessed the little boy’s meaning. Not deeming 
this a proper time for explanation, she quieted him 
by saying “ that nothing would hurt him, for God 
would take care of himand, satisfied with this 
assurance, he soon fell asleep. All were soon 
slumbering around her, and she was alone. Weary 
and homesick, she sat down to rest; and, discour¬ 
aged by the day’s experience, she shrank from the 
future. “Oh, home—home and my mother and 
all of them—why can I not live at home ? or how 
can I stay here ?” and the tears which she had re¬ 
strained throughout the day now flowed freely. 
This mood, however, did not last long. “ No, I 
will try to do my best and grapple with my hard 
duties. I will not go back to my mother, showing 
that I am weak and infirm of purpose, but rather 
return conscious of a well-fought battle, although 
I may not be able to conquer the difficulties I have 
to contend with.” She took her well-worn Bible 
from her trunk, and, as it told her of a Friend who 
would teach her all she wished to know, who would 


260 


MARGARET GORDON, 


make every difficult thing easy, rendering the 
crooked paths straight and the rough places 
smooth, a sense of protecting love, unerring guid¬ 
ance and unfailing guardianship came over her, 
and she experienced that sweet sense of happiness 
that comes upon the soul that bows itself submis¬ 
sively to the divine word and strives in all earn¬ 
estness and humility to do all God^s pleasure. She 
continued to read until Louisa came up from the 
parlour, which was not until late—there was so 
much company and they were playing cards; so 
mamma had let her stay.’^ Margaret helped her 
to undress, and, as she was about to get into bed, 
asked her if she had not forgotten to say her pray¬ 
ers. Louisa looked surprised: 

I have not said any prayers since I stayed with 
Aunt Fanny, ever so long ago. She taught me to 
say, ‘Our Father,’ but I have forgotten it now. 
Do you know it ? I always said it on my knees to 
Aunt Fanny. Do you go on your knees when you 
say your prayers 

“Yes, I do; and will teach you the Lord’s 
Prayer, if you will let me.” 

Louisa knelt down beside the humble nurse, 
who repeated the words of that beautiful prayer 
which, taught by the blessed Saviour himself. 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


261 


lias beeu loved and uttered by Christians for 
ages. 

Margaret remained a little while after Louisa 
left, still pursuing her earlier train of thought, and 
then laid down to rest, after a fervent prayer that 
she might be enabled to glorify God in the right 
performance of all her duties in her new home, and 
especially that by his grace he would teach and 
help her to do all in her power for the best welfare 
and happiness of her youthful charges. Her talent 
might be small, but the Master of the labourer ex¬ 
pected a return from him to whom he had given 
but one talent, as well as from him to whom he had 
entrusted ten; and with a heart filled with loving 
trust and humble devotion, she felt willing, at any 
sacrifice, to answer to the call of him whom she 
served; labouring with the one talent bestowed 
upon her with untiring zeal, until, through assist¬ 
ing grace, it should become five. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


LESSONS OF PATIENCE—PEACE AND POWER OBTAINED 
THROUGH PRAYER. 

|f’VE just come for a moment to see how you 
i got along last night/^ said Norah, as, with a 
duster in her hand, she came the next morning 
into the nursery, where she found Gracie tying the 
kitten to the back of Louisans chair, who, with a 
box of water-colours before her, was too deeply en¬ 
gaged in colouring the pictures of her spelling-book 
to notice anything else; Philip was riding round 
the room on a cane, while Margaret was busily 
drying his shoes, which he and Grace had put into 
the wash-basin, ^Gnaking them sail like boats.’^ 
You’ll have to scare them into good behaviour, 
as Bridget did,” said she, laughing. Grace, do 
you want that kitten to scratch your sister’s neck ? 
You’re the very sorrow for mischief. We’ll have 
to send for Indian Peter again.” 

Grace untied the kitten and Philip quitted romp¬ 
ing, and with a frightened look crept close to Mar¬ 
garet. 

262 




CAN I FORGIVEf 


2G3 


is wrong to frighten cliiklrcn/’ said Mar¬ 
garet, and I will never try to manage them in 
that way.” 

“Pray, why? Where’s the harm, I’d like to 
know ?” 

“ In the first place, you tell the child,” said Mar¬ 
garet, “ what he will afterward find out is not true, 
and then he will not only not believe you when you 
speak the truth, but think he may tell falsehoods, 
too. And then I should be deceiving their mother, 
to whom I have promised to take good care of her 
children ; and I am sure I would not be doing that 
if I forced them to good behaviour by working on 
their fears, instead of teaching them to do right 
from love to God and to their parents.” 

“ Why, Margaret, your father must have been a 
preacher; you take things as seriously as if you 
were a graveyard,” said Norah, flippantly. “ What 
does it matter to Mrs. Ainslie how you manage to 
keep the children quiet ? And telling them that 
Indian Peter’s coming to carry them away in his 
bag, does no harm.” 

“But it does do harm, Norah—makes a child 
afraid to go out in the dark, and even dread being 
left alone. My father was no preacher, but only a 
country schoolmaster; but he taught us always to 


264 


MARGARET GORDON, 


practice truth in everything; and besides, on this 
very subject, he said one never could imagine how 
much a child suffers from fear, and told us many 
stories of persons who had been frightened in their 
childhood who had never been able to get over 
their foolish fears, and that many children had 
been made idiots by being so alarmed.’’ 

That would be dreadful,” said the good-hearted 
Norah, ‘^and I’m glad I never did much of it. 
But it don’t happen often, and that is one good 
thing.” 

No,” was the reply, but think, if it should 
happen but once, how dreadful it would make one 
feel! and then, if we do the same thing—even if it 
should not turn out so badly—we, knowing it to be 
wrong, are just as guilty in the sight of God as if 
it produced the same evil.” 

Norah did not answer, for Philip by this time 
had climbed up into Margaret’s lap, and Grace, 
tired of the kitten, was tearing a doll to pieces and 
strewing the bran with which it was filled on the 
floor. 

Tell me a story, Maggie,” said Philip; I will 
have a story.” 

^^So will I,” chimed Gracie; ^^you must tell us a 
story. Bridget always did—about ^ Jack the Giant- 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


265 


killer/ or ^ Puss in Boots.’ Come, you must be¬ 
gin. I’ll tell mamma if you don’t do what we 
wish.” 

I will not tell you a story now,” said Marga¬ 
ret, for this is the time your mamma allotted for 
the hearing of your lessons; so get your book, Miss 
Gracie.” 

And won’t you tell us a story at all ?” 

When you are good and have said your lessons 
well, I will always tell you a story. Master Philip, 
you were very naughty this morning when you put 
your shoes in the wash-basin; and you, too. Miss 
Gracie, when you threw the comb out of the 
window.” 

Gracie told me to put my shoes in the water,” 
cried Philip ; but you shall tell a story. If you 
don’t, I’ll holler just as loud as ever I can.” 

So will I,” said Grace, and then mamma will 
think you have been whipping us.” 

^^But Miss Louisa will tell the truth, I am sure,” 
said Margaret; but you do not conquer me by 
being naughty. I will always tell you a story 
when you are good, but never when you are not; 
and you are naughty now.” 

You are ugly,” said Philip, getting down from 
her lap, ^^and I don’t like you; and I’ll holler, see 


266 


MARGARET GORDON, 


if I don’tand he and Grace both began to hol¬ 
ler’’ in a manner calculated to alarm any one. 

Norah laughed. Ah, Maggie,” said she, as she 
prepared to leave the room, you’ll have to call on 
Indian Peter yet.” 

The ^Giollerin” ceased at the mention of this 
dreaded name, and a victory for the thne was 
gained. 

‘^See that, now!” said Norah; ^^yoii can never 
manage those two without a scare.” 

Then 1 will never manage them at all,”- was 
the reply; for if I cannot be faithful in what I 
consider my duty, I will give up my place, which, 
in most respects, is a very desirable one.” 

The more fool you are; what need you care so 
they be quiet?” said Norah, as she left the room. 

Little thanks ye’ll get, do what you will, as you’ll 
find out afore long 1” 

Margaret had for a second time that morning 
finished arranging the nursery, which was a perfect 
arsenal of toys, when Mrs. Ainslie entered, accom¬ 
panied by a gentle-looking, middle-aged lady, whom 
the children, with a shout of joy, greeted as Aunt 
Fanny. 

I have brought you some work,” Mrs. Ainslie 
said, as she unrolled a small bundle; a white flan- 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


267 


nel sacque, to be embroidered with floss silk, for the 
baby, and I expect it to be done well. Make the 
room comfortable and pleasant as possible, and do 
not neglect the lessons. You’ll have plenty of 
time—the baby is so good, and the others amuse 
themselves; you won’t have any trouble.” 

Mrs. Ainslie knew little of the care and time re¬ 
quired by children, for she seldom visited the nur¬ 
sery, considering that, as she gave high wages, the 
one who received them was bound to act with strict 
fidelity in giving a full equivalent in labour. Weak 
and vain, knowing nothing of religion, she cared 
only for the world—what would be said and thought 
of her—what was considered etiquette—what was 
the highest fashion. The vain dreams of this mor¬ 
tal life were to her a vivid reality; and the one 
great object of her existence, to which every other 
consideration was to be sacrificed, was the external 
cultivation of her children, so as to appear to the 
best advantage in the circle to which their father’s 
wealth entitled them. But as to the duty of en¬ 
deavouring to fortify their young hearts against the 
ruinous influences to which that wealth and the un¬ 
limited indulgence allowed exposed them, but of 
leading them to feel that infinitely higher in im¬ 
portance than mere externals is that inward adorn- 


268 MARGARET GORDON, 

ment of the hidden man of the heart that in the 
sight of God is of such great price, and of which 
the surest foundation is laid in childhood, Mrs. 
Ainslie never once thought. 

The children, clustering noisily around Aunt 
Fanny,” inquired what she had brought them. 
For Louisa there was a book full of pictures; for 
Grace, a doll; and for Philip, a whip, which he 
made use of when Grace encroached too far on his 
privileges. The visit was a very short one. Mrs. 
Ainslie went out to ride, and the schoolmaster’s 
daughter was once more left to consider how she 
could reduce into proper subordination these contu¬ 
macious little subjects of her noisy realm. “ There 
is but one way,” she said to herself, “and this is by 
patience with their waywardness; and, as they are 
left so entirely to my care, I will try to make such 
an impression upon them as may fit them to act 
their part with better aims and higher motives than 
the service of the world.” And so, with a con¬ 
sciousness of her own freedom of action, and, above 
all, of those duties she owed to God—so infinitely 
higher than those she owed to Mrs. Ainslie—she 
sought to discharge her duty with unwearied fidel¬ 
ity. The task was indeed a hard one, requiring 
the greatest effort of self-control and patience. She 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


269 


had, as we have shown, been carefully trained in 
habits of forbearance and self-sacrifice; but, un¬ 
cheered by the praise or unsustained by the counsel 
of the loved ones at home, she could not have con¬ 
tinued so patiently to fulfil all her duties if she had 
not been governed by a wish to please God, and an 
endeavour to obtain the reward and blessing prom¬ 
ised by the Saviour to all who try to serve him— 
the small as well as the great, the ignorant and the 
learned, the servant as well as the master. With 
thoughts like these deeply impressed upon her mind, 
the schoolmaster's daughter knelt morning and 
evening in earnest prayer that she might be enabled 
to walk firmly and unwaveringly in the way of 
God’s commandments, and, in the faithful perform¬ 
ance of her duties, act so as to be approved by him. 
Duty urged and enforced by love is the noblest 
principle God has given for the guiding of life; and 
seeking to please him whom she professed to serve 
by doing all her duties heartily as unto the Lord 
and not to man”—not with eye-service as men- 
pleasers, but with singleness of heart, fearing God 
—she found her reward in peace of conscience, and 
the heavenly aid which was given day by day light¬ 
ened her heavy burden—an aid always granted to 
those who make the service of God their highest joy. 


270 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Her time was fully occupied. One task was 
scarcely over before another was called for. This 
would not have been of so much importance had there 
been any order in their arrangement; but Mrs. Ainslie 
had no system, and never thought or cared for any 
one’s convenience but her own, and therefore required 
Margaret to be ready at her every beck and call. 
Wishing to give satisfaction, and self-denying, she 
rose very early, even when disturbed by the baby at 
night, and often sat up until a later hour than was 
good for her health in order to do some mending for 
herself, but more frequently to finish some piece of 
work which was wanted ^^as soon as possible.” 
Accustomed to steady industry, as she had always 
been, there were times when she could not help feel¬ 
ing that Mrs. Ainslie required, or at least expected, 
too much. The care of the children would have 
been quite enough to fill up her time; the baby was 
often fretful; Philip had a strong will of his own, 
and made many claims on her patience by inter¬ 
rupting her work, so that amusing him was not the 
least troublesome part of the day’s routine. Grace 
was very forward and pettish, and, with an uncon¬ 
querable propensity for perpetrating mischief, re¬ 
quired constant watching. Louisa was gentle and 
quiet, but, indolent and hating trouble, chose rather 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


271 


to learn her lessons by having them repeated to her 
than by taking pains to study them by herself. 
With proper management they would not have been 
bad children; as it was, they were so spoiled by a 
system of ruinous indulgence that the two, Grace 
and Philip, were perfect little outlaws. Make 
everything as pleasant and comfortable for them as 
you can,^^ was Mrs. Ainslie^s desire, but she could 
not see the difficulty of the task imposed on Marga¬ 
ret by her own want of co-operation in the work of 
proper discipline. Sometimes, when they were par¬ 
ticularly trying, Margaret would say: 

If you are so naughty, I shall have to tell your 
mamma, and what do you think she will say 

Philip would at times be awed into something 
like order, but Grace was never overcome by this 
threat. She was her mother’s favourite, and she 
knew that she could always make her story good 
against anything that Louisa or Margaret might 
tell. She had not been taught to love and speak 
the truth, and, having no fear of punishment, 
would say, archly and in a tone of defiance: 

Tell now: do not you hear mamma is com¬ 
ing?” 

Sometimes, when mamma did really come and 
Louisa was greatly offended, she would greet her 


272 


MARGARET GORDON, 


with a series of complaints relative to Grace’s try¬ 
ing ways. But the answer usually was, 

Hush, hush, my dear—command yourself; you 
are too excitable. What have you been doing. 
Grade?” 

Nothing, mamma. Louisa is always cross.” 

‘‘Well, don’t be teasing, there’s a good child. 
Louisa, my love, you have so little patience with 
any one; you can’t expect such little things to be 
perfect. Margaret, I expected you to keep better 
order. When Bridget was here there was much 
less noise in the nursery. You must learn to man¬ 
age better.” 

Then she would talk of the duty and importance 
of setting a good example, and look at the baby, 
and kiss Grace and Philip and call them her pretty 
pets; and that would be all. The consequence of 
the slight notice she took of the misdemeanours 
wag that they every day grew more unruly and 
tried poor Margaret’s patience to the utmost. She 
was anxious to do her duty, but how was she to do 
it when she was not upheld in the endeavour by 
their mother, who by her weak indulgence coun¬ 
teracted her best efforts to train them into proper 
behaviour, and often reproved her for neglect before 
the children, whilst she excused their shortcomings 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


273 


or laughed at their mischievous pranks ? It was 
an unfortunate forgetfulness or ignorance on Mrs. 
Ainslie’s part, which caused her to overlook the 
fact that the best mode of ensuring respect for 
another is by exhibiting it in our own conduct to¬ 
ward them. Thus, whilst she told her children 
to be good and do what their nurse bade them,’’ 
she took the most effectual steps to render Margaret’s 
authority utterly nugatory. There were often times 
when the trials of her present servitude seemed 
altogether unendurable, and, completely discour¬ 
aged, she would feel ready to give up her place and 
seek another where, with less wages, there would 
be less fault-finding and fewer exactions. But 
there was a principle within that soon brought her 
to a more patient spirit. Was it not God who had 
allotted her present sphere of labour? She had 
also a high duty to perform for her family, and 
she knew it would cause them much anxiety if she 
should leave it; and the practice of that charity 
which hopeth and beareth all things” enabled her 
to submit to the trial without a murmur. If she 
had no authority, she might have influence, and 
that would give her power to impress those young 
and plastic minds with such truths as children can 
never learn too early, and thus counteract the per¬ 
is 


274 


MARGARET GORDON, 


iiiclous effects of an indulgence that if continued 
would prove their ruin. What made her task 
harder was that one day she overheard Mrs. Ains- 
lie complaining that the new nurse did not man¬ 
age the children properly—that Philip and Grace 
frightened her with their noisy shoutingsand her 
natural quick temper urged her to resent the 
wrong. She was, however, enabled to resist the 
weakness, and, animated by the thought, ‘‘ Thou, 
God, seest me,’’ she renewed her diligence to labour 
in her allotted sphere. Every one who performs 
the stern rules of duty with a high and holy 
purpose meets with his reward. She learned 
to listen without reply to undeserved reproofs 
and to submit to unmerited reprimands, wondering 
if she did not sometimes give cause for blame; and 
never murmured at the heavy exactions she was 
continually obliged to meet, until the calmness of 
her own mind became a sufficient recompense for 
all her difficulties; and the person most to be en¬ 
vied in the family of a man whose wealth seemed 
boundless was the poor girl who filled the humble 
place of nursery-maid to his children. 

Margaret,” said Norah, one afternoon as she 
entered the nursery, ‘^you are to dress the chil¬ 
dren, for Mrs. Preston is come, and they are 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


275 


to take tea down stairs; so you will have a holi¬ 
day/’ 

Not much of a one/’ said Margaret, “ for I 
must have this dress for Gracie finished by to-mor¬ 
row evening; I am glad, however^ for I shall have 
^ime, and all will be so quiet.” 

The evening came, and Margaret found herself 
for the first time since leaving home alone, and as 
it gave her space to think—for, living where she 
did, where the things belonging to eternity were 
never thought of, and the pleasures of the world 
and how to fill up time in the enjoyment of every¬ 
thing that wealth could procure were made the 
chief objects, and her own crowded, busy, never- 
resting life gave her no leisure for self-examination 
—her thoughts reverted to her humble home, her 
labours there, and how often she had repined at 
their lowly lot and want of wealth; and now, as 
she looked around the room so luxuriously fur¬ 
nished, even as a nursery for the children of the 
rich, it brought back in strong contrast the absence 
of wealth and luxury in her own home, wondered, 
as she had often done before, at the inequalities of 
life. But no murmuring spirit awoke, as formerly; 
she had begun to see that high positions are places 
of danger, and how hard it is for those that have 


276 


MARGARET GORDON, 


riclies to enter into the kingdom of God. And, 
for herself, was there not danger—after living as 
she now did, that when her term of service was 
ended she would go back discontentedly to the sim¬ 
plicity of her former country life ? And was there 
also no danger that she, living where fashion, 
vanity, worldly ambition and love of display were 
all important, as if they involved lasting interests 
—that she, too, might become blinded, and, turning 
back to the beggarly elements of the world, be 
again in bondage? 

Her meditations were interrupted by Norah : ‘‘ I 
thought you would be lonesome, and so Vwe come 
to stay with you for a bit. But why do you not 
come down to the kitchen, where we are all so 
merry? The baby is asleep, so there is no need 
for you to mope here alone. And there! you are at 
some new embroidery, working on that dark red 
dress, just putting your eyes out. We are all talk¬ 
ing, down stairs there, how Mrs. Ainslie is over¬ 
loading you with work, and how pale you are get¬ 
ting to look.’’ 

I believe I am not quite well,” replied Mar¬ 
garet, but I hope I will soon be better. Mrs. 
Ainslie wants this dress finished as soon as possible, 
and I am anxious to please her; besides, she gives 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


277 


me very good wages, and has a right to expect I 
should earn them.’^ 

‘‘You are mighty silly,’’ returned Norah, “for 
she won’t thank you, and you will keep your place 
and get your wages—for she don’t care for money— 
all the same if you did not do half.” 

“ The Bible, Norah, tells us, ‘ Servants, obey your 
masters, serving them not with eye-service, as men- 
2 )leasers, but in singleness of heart, as fearing Gpd ; 
and whatsoever ye do, do it heartily as unto the 
Lord and not unto men, knowing that your reward 
shall come from himand so I consider that that 
is the duty of servants—not only to do enough to 
keep their place, but to try to please their employer 
in all things.” 

“And so,” retorted Norah, “you think it right, 
because Mrs. Ainslie is unreasonable and takes a 
double amount of work out of you through the day, 
to get up at daylight and sit late at night, to kill 
yourself just to please her. You are a silly girl to 
think of pleasing Mrs. Ainslie at the risk of injur¬ 
ing your health; you’ll never get praised for your 
pains—that is, to your face, whatever may be said 
behind your back. However, she is satisfied with 
you, for I heard her, when I Avent to tlie par¬ 
lour to attend to something, tell some ladies that 


278 


MARGARET GORDON, 


she had a nursery-girl who could do the work of 
three people, and saved her the price of a regular 
seamstress, which we have not had since you came; 
no, not even Miss Train comes now, since Miss 
Louisy says her lessons to you/^ 

I All I have to do,^’ said Margaret, gravely, is 
to try a little longer, and then, if I lind that what 
I am required to do is beyond my strength, I will 
give up my place. I shall not be able to work ex¬ 
actly as I have been doing, for I feel the need of. 
more exercise.’’ 

The truth is, Margaret, it is your place to go 
out with the children ; and if Mrs. Ainslie cared as 
much about you as you do about her interests, she 
would not shut you up here in the nursery and 
overload you with work; and if you were not a fool 
you would not put up with it.” 

The autumn months passed quietly away, and 
brought no change to the routine of Margaret’s life, 
save that the nursery was occasionally cheered by a 
visit from Mrs. Preston—^‘Aunt Fanny,” as the 
children called her—who was a great favourite with 
them. She was Mrs. Ainslie’s aunt, and, intelli¬ 
gent and j)ious, was the only person who ever spoke 
])]ainly to her niece on serious subjects. She was 
rich, a widow, and, living only a few miles distant, 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


279 


came often to C-. She loved the children, but 

deplored the great mismanagement of them; but it 
was now with great pleasure she noticed the interest 
and affection of the new nurse, and often told Mrs. 
Ainslie that she was claiming more service than was 
just. She possessed the true missionary spirit, 
which seeks to do good at home, and so strove habit¬ 
ually to consider her servants as being brought to 
her by the providence of God that she might do 
them good; and was often pained to see her niece 
and others treat them as though they were of a dif¬ 
ferent race from themselves, not considering who it 
was that had made them to differ. She had, how¬ 
ever, never before met with one who discharged 
her duties in the manner and spirit which Margaret 
did; and often said to herself that one who gov¬ 
erned herself by Christian principle, and sought to 
regulate her whole conduct by the will of God, 
could not fail to exert a salutary influence on her 
niece’s children, and grieved because there was no 
co-operation. 

The approach of Christmas was hailed with de¬ 
light by the children, for there was to be a Christ¬ 
mas-tree and presents—and Aunt Fanny always 
gave them so many—and children’s parties, where 
they always danced and had everything so nice; 



280 


MARGARET GORDON, 


and George and Frank were coming home, and they 
always were so merry. There was nothing like 
Christmas. Margaret, too, had looked forward to 
Christmas. Perhaps she would be permitted to 
spend it at home! She made the request; it was 
refused ; and with the meek and quiet spirit which 
she had acquired she submitted to what she con¬ 
sidered her duty, and prepared to continue her dull 
round of tasks while all the others were gay. 

A week or two before the expected arrival of the 
boys, Mrs. Ainslie, accompanied by her aunt, en¬ 
tered the nursery: 

Here, Margaret, is some work I wish you to 
get at as soon as possible; it is shirts for the boys, 
and must be finished by the time vacation is ended. 
But you are not done, I see, with Gracie’s dress; I 
think you have been very long about it; I cannot 
think why you have been so slow.^’ 

An answer rose to Margaret’s lips, but she 
checked her rising anger, and replied that a few 
hours’ work would complete it,” and then continued 
to search around for the embroidery silk, which 
could not be found. 

“ What are you looking for ?” asked Mrs. Ainslie, 
^^and where is the pincushion? I will pin this 
work in some places for you, as it is a new pattern.” 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


281 


But the pincushion could not be found. 

You are terribly careless, Margaret/^ said Mrs. 
Ainslie, impatiently; it is one of my rules to have 
a place for everything and have everything in its 
place. How did you dress the children without 
pins 

cannot find my scissors, Margaret,” said 
Louisa, ^^and I want them; please find them. Oh, 
here they are: Philip had them, cutting out pic¬ 
tures, I remember. But mamma, only look here! 
Grade has got my scissors and cut up the embroid¬ 
ery silk to make fringe for her doll’s dress, and 
Philip has taken all the pins out of the cushion and 
stuck them in the carpet for soldiers!” 

And so it was; then the pins, stuck upright, 
represented rank and file, making a game for his 
own amusement, and the beautiful red fioss silk 
was all cut up into lengths an inch long, which 
Grace was busily sewing on her doll’s dress. 

Oh, Grade, how could you be so naughty, 
and spoil the silk ? There would have been nearly 
enough for Louisa’s dress. Margaret, send Norah 
up town for some more, for the dress must be fin¬ 
ished to-day; and next time don’t be so careless, 
but put the things out of the children’s way.” 

A visitor was announced, and Mrs. Ainslie 


'282 


MAPMARET GORDON, 


obeyed the summons, leaving Mrs. Preston with 
the children until her return. 

What are you going to give us at Christmas, 
Aunt Fanny?’’ inquired Grace; want ever so 
many pretty things.” 

do not think I shall give you anything, if 
you are so naughty,” said Mrs. Preston; and you 
have been very naughty to-day, cutting up that 
beautiful silk and vexing your mother.” 

Mamma don’t care,” replied Grace; but 
Louisa is always so cross, and I don’t like her.” 

‘^Not like your sister?” said her aunt, ^‘how 
naughty! Are you not afraid to say so, and that 
God will punish you ?” 

“ I am not afraid now,” replied Grace, for 
Maggie says there is no Indian Peter; and she 
says, too, that God will love me if I am good and 
say my prayers; and. Aunt Fanny, I do say my 
prayers now, every night and morning, and I ask 
God to bless me and make me good.” 

But if you do not try to be good at the same 
time that you ask God to make you so, he will not 
love you; for, wherever you go or whatever you 
do, he knows it, or if you are naughty, for his eye 
is ever upon you.”- 

- Philip would not be half so bad as he is,” said 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


283 


Louisa, “ if Gracie did not make him so, for when 
she is not here he is very quiet.’^ 

“ I hope that Gracie will not be naughty any 
more/^ said their aunt, but try to be good, and, 
because she is older than her little brother, to set 
liim a good example; and in that she will be doing 
God’s work.” 

‘‘ What is ’sample, Aunt Fanny?” asked Grace. 

^‘Behaving well before others, and so showing 
them how to do the same,” replied Mrs. Preston. 

You are very young, Gracie, but as you are not 
too young to sin, you are not too young to pray; 
and I am sure that when you feel inclined to do 
naughty things, like cutting u]) your mamma’s silk, 
and such other mischief as you are in the habit 
of doing, if you would just think that God sees 
you, and would ask him to help you in your en¬ 
deavour to be good, he would assist you, and you 
would soon get rid of your love of mischief and 
be happier, for everybody would love you better.” 

Norah now returned with the silk, and Mrs. 
Ainslie sent word to Mrs. Preston that the carriage 
was ready for them to take their usual ride. Mar¬ 
garet resumed her interrupted work, and was en¬ 
abled to finish it, for Grace, seemingly impressed 
for the time at least, was less troublesome than she 


284 


NARGARET GORDON, 


ever had bceii.in her life. Oh why did not the 
mother of those beautiful children try, from their 
earliest infancy, both by precept and example, to 
teach them to seek the favour of God and find their 
highest joy in his service—a service whose reward 
is a crown of everlasting life? 

The Christmas came, and with it came George 
and Frank, accompanied by two cousins, and the 
house was filled with noise and merriment. Books, 
lessons, work, were all laid aside, for was not 
Christmas a season for especial enjoyment? 

The Ainslie children were to have a Christmas 
tree and a dance on Christmas eve, but to their 
great vexation Mrs. Brooks anticipated them, and 
they were obliged to put it off until the next even¬ 
ing. On the morning before the party, Mrs. Ains¬ 
lie, accompanied by Mrs. Preston, appeared in the 
nursery at an unusually early hour. A dress for 
Louisa to wear to the party was to be newly trim¬ 
med, and Margaret must lay aside the work witli 
which she had been so much hurried, and begin the 
new one under Mrs. Ainslie’s direction. All went 
on well for a time, until they were interrupted by an 
exclamation from Louisa and a terrible outcry from 
Grace. Louisa had been looking round for her 
scissors, which Philip had again carried off to cut 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


285 


dogs and horses out of paper, when she found both 
him and Grace engaged in a new piece of mischief. 
Louisa had a box of water-colours, a present from 
her father, whicli she prized very highly, and she 
often amused herself by colouring small prints or the 
pictures in her books. Grace had more than once 
asked permission to use it, but Louisa refused on 
the plea that she always spoiled not only her own 
playthings, but those that were lent her. Grace 
was not easily baffled, and on this day, when all 
were so busy fixing dresses and discussing the 
party, she found an opportunity to climb up to the 
high shelf in the closet where the box had been put 
for safe-keeping, and appropriate it, as well as some 
picture-books, for her own use. She poured out 
some water in the wash-bowl, and, not knowing 
how easily the paints melted, she, aided by Philip, 
dipped them in the water until they were so soft¬ 
ened as to be nearly dissolved. The books were 
ruined as well as the paints, and, somewhat fright¬ 
ened at the mischief she had done, she tried to re¬ 
place them in the box, but in doing so she daubed 
her face, hands and apron with all the colours of 
the rainbow, looking more like a painted Indian 
than the beautiful child she really was; and Philip 
was in no better plight. 


286 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Louisa, usually so gentle, was startled out of all 
propriety when she saw the havoc made on her 
property, and in her anger boxed her sister’s ears 
most soundly, which caused a terrible outcry. 
Mrs. Alnslie was at first alarmed, but afterward 
laughed heartily when she found what occasioned 
the noise and saw the ludicrous appearance of the 
two little culprits. Unheeding the distress of 
Louisa at the loss of her paint-box, she could have 
passed the affair over as a child’s frolic, and taken 
no further notice of it than to order Margaret to 
wash their hands and faces and dress them in clean 
clothes, but the grave face of Mrs. Preston spoke 
reprovingly, and she felt herself obliged to reprove 
slightly. 

“ You are very naughty children,” said she, 
and I have a great mind not to let you go to the 
party; but you must be punished for such a piece 
of mischief, and so you must stay in the corner for 
half an hour.” 

There were symptoms of rebellion, which, if 
Mrs. Preston had not been present, would have 
conquered the weak and ill-judging mother; but 
she stood somewhat in awe of her aunt, and was 
therefore firm in carrying out her sentence of ban¬ 
ishment to the bed-room. The outcries from 


OE CAN I FOEGIVEf 


287 


thence were very annoying, and Mrs. Ainslie, who 
liated trouble, was more ready to release them than 
to perform her duty of teaching them what was 
right, because the latter was the more difficult task 
of the two. 

It is a foolish thing to make a rout about,’’ 
said she. Louisa can get a new box to-morrow, 
and it worries me dreadfully to have to punish the 
poor little things for such a trifle. I’d rather they 
should destroy a dozen paint-boxes than be so dis¬ 
turbed as I am.” 

That may be,” said Mrs. Preston; but, my 
dear Clara, it is your duty to teach your children 
what is right, no matter how much the exercise 
of the discipline which is intended for their good 
may pain you at the time of its performance. 
We have all of us duties, many of them unpleas¬ 
ant ones, which are indispensable, and a duty 
is not less a duty because it is painful; and, 
my dear niece, you must permit me to say that 
you are injuring your children by too much in¬ 
dulgence.” 

Aunt Fanny,” replied Mrs. Ainslie, my chil¬ 
dren are no worse than those of other folks. All 
children are naturally full of mischief. And be¬ 
sides, Grace is uncommonly smart, and is so full of 


288 MARGARET GORDON, 

activity that she must always be employed at some¬ 
thing/' 

I admit/' replied Mrs. Preston, that Grace pos¬ 
sesses more than a common share of activity. All 
children are naturally active; but unless their activ¬ 
ity be bent to useful purposes, it will only lead them 
into mischief; and much of that bent to mischief in 
children arises from the neglect of parents in not 
directing their activity into proper channels. The 
Scripture tells us to ‘ train up a child in the way 
that he should go;' and, my dear Clara, depend upon 
it, that in the way you train him he will go, whether 
you will it or not. And allowing the pleasure of 
being mischievously active and the pleasure of be¬ 
ing usefully active to be equal, do you think that 
the consequences will not be different? If you 
permit a child to derive all his pleasure from doing 
ill to others, he will not, when he is grown up, be 
inclined to do much good." 

Well, if that is so, aunt, how is it to be helped ? 
I wish my children to be amiable and good, but 
indeed, I cannot see anything very bad in Grace's 
mischief of this morning; indeed, I think Louisa 
deserved the punishment rather than these two noisy 
prisoners." 

“ Louisa’s burst of passion does not excuse Grace, 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


289 


nor Grace’s doing what she knew was wrong in ap- 
pro})riating and injuring her sister’s property ex¬ 
cuse Louisa. But it is of your duty that I am 
now speaking. You ask me how Grace’s propen¬ 
sity to mischief and self-will is to be helped ? 

There is one means which is all-powerful to effect 
the mighty change which all who Gvould see God’ 
must undergo—the grace of God, which is a gift 
that, like all the other gifts of divine love, must be 
sought by the appointed means. It is the duty of 
parents to put their children upon the way of seek¬ 
ing it, and, as far as in their power, remove the ob¬ 
stacles that would prevent it. Begin in the nur¬ 
sery to prepare your children’s characters. If the 
farmer were neither to plough nor sow his fields, 
nor root out the briers and thorns, and then expect 
in harvest, by the blessing of Heaven, to reap 
an abundant crop, every one would think him be¬ 
side himself.” 

But,” said Mrs. Ainslie, we intend to give 
our children the best of education, and I am sure 
that Margaret here in the nursery reads good books 
to them and tells them when they do wrong.” 

That is all well as far as it goes, but something 
more is necessary. Can you imagine, Clara, that 

the human soul requires less care in culturing it 

19 


290 


MARGARET GORDON, 


than is necessary to a farmer’s field ? Must not 
the briers and thorns of pride and self-will be 
rooted out from your children’s minds before the 
good seed you say your nurse is sowing can thrive? 
No, Clara! I have noticed the bad efPects of your 
blind indulgence on your children, and, for the sake 
of the love I bear to both yourself and them, you 
must forgive my plain speaking. The plan of pre¬ 
paration for their future welfare is nothing else 
than a watchful attention to the first appearances 
of what is in its nature evil, and, whether it comes 
in the shape of self-will, passion or perverseness, 
nipping it in the very bud; while on the other 
hand I would tenderly cherish every kindly affec¬ 
tion and enforce attention to the feelings of others, 
by which means I would render children kind- 
hearted, tractable and obedient. The gospel, Clara 
—and you were brought up to reverence it—what 
does the gospel teach? Does it not urge us to 
subdue all selfish and hurtful passions, in order 
that we may cherish the most perfect love to God 
and man ? Now, while you permit your children 
such unlimited self-indulgence, you are also permit¬ 
ting them to indulge these passions, and after these 
have taken root, how then can you hope to prepare 
them for practicing the gospel precepts? Their 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


291 


duty to God and man requires that they should 
make the best use of every power of mind and body. 
The activity natural to youth is a power included 
in this rule; and if those whose duty it is to train 
them permit them to waste it in effecting mischief, 
and in destroying or disturbing the happiness of 
others, can they say that they are not counteracting 
the express will of our divine Master? You wish 
your children to be all that is lovely; but how, my 
dear niece, can you flatter yourself that with habits 
consequent on such ruinous indulgence, the divine 
precepts—without which basis no truly lovely cha¬ 
racter can be formed—will ever make much impres¬ 
sion on their minds 

You view the matter quite too seriously, Aunt 
Fanny,” said MrSc Ainslie; children will be 
children, let you do as you will. Let them be 
happy now, for childhood is the only happy period 
of life, and it is so short. Grace will in time get 
over this love of mischief and give up her self-will, 
and Philip, I am sure, is as good a child as can be 
found.” 

Those who wait till evening for sunrise,” said 
Mrs. Preston, will find that they have lost the 
day. If you permit your children to disobey all 
counsel, and practice what they know to be wrong 


292 


MARGARET GORDON, 


now, tliey will never learn to obey God. But per¬ 
haps I interfere too far. If I do, you must forgive 
me, my dear Clara, for, with the great affection I 
have for you, whom your mother on her death-bed 
committed to my care, and the strong impression I 
have of the consequences of a right education, I 
am tempted to forget that my advice may some¬ 
times be unacceptable.^^ 

“ I could never be offended with you. Aunt 
Fanny,said Mrs. Ainslie, ‘Get you say what you 
will; but we cannot see this affair in the same 
light now, so we will drop the subject.” 

In the mean time, the two little culprits had slip¬ 
ped slyly out of the bed-room, and were playing in 
a corner with as much indifference as if there had 
been no disturbance. Mrs. Ainslie was called 
away to receive a visitor and took no more notice 
of the misdemeanour, believing that they had been 
sufficiently punished. Before she left the nursery, 
however, she called them to her to give the “ make¬ 
up-kiss,” and asked Grace if she would not be 
good; and, instead of telling her where she was 
wrong, tpld her that she must get rid of her red 
eyes before she went to the party. Grace replied 
that she would behave well, and in the same breath 
asked what she was to wear; but Philq:), when 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


293 


asked the same question, answered that he was 
very sorry for having been naughty and spoiled 
Louisa’s paint-box, but said, after his mother had 
left the room. 

It was Gracie’s fault. Aunt Fanny. Grade 
set me the ’sample, and you know you said she 
should set me the ’sample because she is the big¬ 
gest.” 

You are not to follow her example when it is 
not a good one,” said Mrs. Preston; “ and now, 
Gracie, see how much wrong you have occasioned 
by this one act of mischief. You made your little 
brother do what he knew was not right; you pro¬ 
voked your sister to unseemly conduct; you dis¬ 
obeyed your mother, who told you not to meddle 
with Louisa’s things; but above all, you offended 
God by taking stealthily what belonged to another, 
and thereby breaking the commandment which 
says, ^ Thou shalt not steal.’ ” 

did not know it was so naughty,” said Grace; 
but Lou won’t never lend me her things.” 

Because you spoil and destroy everything, 
Gracie. Philip was naughty, too, when he took 
his sister’s scissors without asking; and Louisa 
was naughty when she got into a passion and 
struck her sister.” 


294 


MARGARET GORDON, 


I was only cutting a cat/’ said Philip; ^^but I 
won’t take the scissors without asking again.” 

And I won’t get angry again,” said Louisa; 
and I hope Gracie will forgive me for striking 
her.” 

My dear children,” said Mrs. Preston, your 
resolutions are good, but yon cannot keep them 
without a better help than your own. You must 
pray to your heavenly Father to help you; and 
if you do so sincerely, he will help you to be 
good.” 

The evening came, and Margaret found herself 
alone, seated at her work beside the sleeping infant. 
The silence of the nursery was oppressive. An 
unwonted stillness reigned throughout the house, 
broken occasionally by the distant sounds of 
snatches of songs sung by some revelers in the 
street or bursts of laughter from the kitchen, where 
the servants were having high holiday; and they 
fell painfully on her heart. She contrasted the 
Christmas of last year with the present to herself, 
and as she revolved the sad change and sorrow it 
had brought, she wept bitterly. A footstep was 
heard upon the stairs; she had hardly time to dry 
her eyes before Norah made her appea;:ance. 

“Margaret,” said she, “they are having a nice 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


295 


time in the kitchen. When ^the cat’s away the 
mice may play/ and Hannah, who has some com¬ 
pany, thinks it a shame that you should be the 
only one who cannot have some pleasure on Christ¬ 
mas eve. She baked a large cake for herself, and 
has a nice entertainment, and sent me to bring you 
down.” 

I am much obliged, but cannot go,” replied 
Margaret. ‘‘It is my duty to remain here to take 
care of the baby, who must not be left alone.” 

“ The baby will sleep until you come back, and 
then where will be the harm ?” 

“You are never sure how long a baby will 
sleep; and if little Juliet should awake and find 
herself alone, she might be frightened and try to 
get out of the cradle. She did so the other day 
and hurt herself no little. Besides, Mrs. Ainslie 
expressly said that she did not wish me to leave 
the nursery, and therefore I have no right to do 
so.” 

“She need never know it, and then she could 
not be troubled about it.” 

“ But I will know that I have deceived her, and 
God will know it, Norah; I should be troubled by 
the reproaches of my own conscience, and how could 
I expect God’s blessing when I felt that I had wil- 


296 


MARGARET GORDON, 


fully disobeyed bis command which says, ^ Servants, 
obey your masters, with singleness of heart, fearing 
God/ It is my duty to obey and serve Mrs. Ains- 
lie faithfully, not only when she can see and know 
it, for, if I do not fulfil my trust, how can I hope 
for the reward promised to those who do their duty 
heartily, as unto the Lord 2’^ 

‘‘You have mighty queer notions, Margaret,’^ 
said Norah; “ do you really believe that God no¬ 
tices or cares for what servants do ?’^ 

“ To be sure I do,’^ was the reply; “ for does 
not the Bible tell us that ‘ we must all stand before 
the judgment-seat of Christ,’ to give an account of 
the deeds done in the body ?” 

“I never knew anybody have such queer no¬ 
tions ; but, I must say, I think you a fool for your 
pains. Mrs. Ainslie does not think about pleasing 
God when she is killing you with too much work. 
She is determined to have her money’s worth out 
of you, at any rate.’ 

“ She has a right to that,” was the answer; “and, 
as for all to take care of themselves is the way of 
the world, she is not so much to be blamed. Be¬ 
sides, if she is a little exacting, she is not ill- 
tempered, and pays good wages.” 

“ I wish I knew, as you do, about these Bible 


OB CAN I FORGIVEf 297 

things/’ said Norah; but I must go now, or some 
one will come after me.” 

After a time, however, she returned, with some 
work in her hand. 

‘‘ I will sit with you, Margaret,” she said, until 
they come home. They are having great times 
down stairs, drinking Mr. Ainslie’s wine, but what 
you said about deceiving, and God knowing every¬ 
thing, made me feel bad, and so I left them and 
have come to you.” 

Thus, by the blessing and aid of God’s holy 
Spirit, Margaret was now enabled to practice the 
lessons she had learned at home, both from precept 
and example, and her own example and conver¬ 
sation were exerting a very great influence over 
Norah’s mind. From a state cf the greatest care¬ 
lessness in regard to spiritual things, she began to 
realize that she too ought to be a Christian—that 
she too had a soul to save, capable of eternal hap¬ 
piness and glory. And with the missionary spirit,” 
which may, by God’s blessing, like “ the grain of 
mustard seed,” produce in time great effects, it 
is in the power of all, brought up as Margaret 
was, to exercise in the families where they are 
called to serve. If but a very little good is done, 
by example or a word in season, to every fellow- 


298 


MARGARET GORDON. 


servant with whom such an one is brouglit in con¬ 
tact, it may be found at the great day of reckon¬ 
ing” that those little sums amount to more than 
could have been hoped for. 




CHAPTER XV. 

BETTER THAN DIAMONDS. 


% m 

t 


[HEN Mrs. Ainslie and her little troop re¬ 
turned from the party, which was at a rather 
late hour for children, Grace and Philip 
were cross and sleepy, and Margaret had no little 
trouble in getting them to bed. The usual duty 
of prayer had to be dispensed with; Philip could 
not keep awake, and Grace would not do anything 
she was told, but crept into bed and was sound 
asleep in a minute. Louisa was much excited, and, 
completely carried away by the charms of the scene 
in which she had mingled, could talk of nothing 
else. 


I wish you could have seen how elegant it was, 
Maggie. The children danced so beautifully, and 
I was so ashamed that I could not dance, but mam¬ 
ma said that Gracie and I should be taught before 
Christmas. And the big ladies—how grandly they 
were dressed ! You ought to have seen how ele¬ 
gant Mrs. Hartly^s diamonds were; but mamma 




300 


MARGARET GORDON, 


says they are not real diamonds, but only 
helieves. At any rate, they were very grand, and I 
intend to ask papa for a set of diamonds as soon as I 
am big enough to wear them. Oh, Maggie, do you 
think there is anything better than having dia¬ 
monds 

I know very little about diamonds, for I have 
never seen a single real one in my life,” -was the 

reply. “ But when we lived in N-, we got a 

great many tracts and had them bound into a book, 
which I have in my trunk. In it I read a pretty 
story, which told that there was something better 
than diamonds.” 

Tell me the story, Maggie; I should like to 
know what is better than diamonds.” 

Not to-night, for it is time you were in bed and 
asleep; I will read it for you some day soon, when 
I have time. But now. Miss Louisa, try not to 
think any more to-night about parties and dia¬ 
monds, but endeavour to say your prayers without 
any wandering thoughts, for if your prayers are 
not said carefully and earnestly, they are but a 
mockery.” 

The next day found Louisa languid and unwell. 
She complained of a sore throat, and Mrs. Ainslie 
directed that she should lie on the sofa in the nur- 



OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


SOI 


sery and keep quiet, so as to be ready to appear at 
the party they were to have in the evening. Thus 
confined whilst the others played noisily through 
the house, she reminded Margaret of her promise 
about a story. The book was brought, and the 
tract—which we have abridged—was read as fol¬ 
lows : 

BETTEE THAN DIAMONDS. 

On a cold day in the winter of 18—, Mr. N-, 

an old gentleman well known in the religious 
world, was standing in the broad, crowded street 
of a large city. It had rained, and although the 
the sun shone brightly, long icicles hung from the 
houses and the wheels creaked as they passed over 
the ground. The sky was clear and bright, but 
there was a keen north-west wind blowing, which, 
although bracing, quickened every step. As he 
stood looking at the passers-by, a little child came 
running along—a poor, ill-clad child of about eight 
years old—without cloak or shawl, and her little 
feet, hardly covered by her old shoes, looked red 
and suffering. She held a little bundle in her 
hand, and as she ran shivering past the old gentle¬ 
man, her foot slipped upon the ice and she fell with 
a cry of pain, but she held the bundle tightly in 
her hand, and jumping up, tried to run as before. 



302 


MARGARET GORDON, 


although she limped sadly. ^^Stop, little girl/’ 
said a sweet voice, and a lady, wrapped in a large 
shawl and enveloped in costly furs, came out of a 
jewelry store close by. 

“ Poor little child said she; are you hurt ? 
Sit down on this step and tell me.” 

Oh I cannot,” said the child ; I cannot wait, 
I am in such a hurry. I have been to the shoe¬ 
maker’s, and mother must finish this work to-night, 
or she will never get any more shoes to bind.” 

“To-night?” said the lady; “what is the haste?” 

“ Yes,” replied the child, “ for they must be 
ready for the great party to-morrow night; the slip¬ 
pers are to be spangled, and—” 

The lady took the bundle from the child’s hand 
and unrolled it. The old gentleman could not 
imagine why her face flushed and then turned pale, 
but he looked into the bundle too, and saw a lady’s 
name written on the inside of the slipper, and then 
he knew. 

“ Where does your mother live, little girl ?” 
she asked. 

The child named the place, and also said that 
her father was dead and that her little brother was 
sick, and that her mother, who was very poor, 
bound shoes that they might have bread; some- 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


303 


times tliej were very cold, and her mother often 
cried because she had no money to buy milk for 
the sick baby.” 

The lady’s eyes w'ere full of tears as she rolled 
up the bundle quickly and gave it back to the 
child; but she gave her nothing else, not even one 
sixpence, and, turning away, went back into the 
store from which she had just come out. Her 
shawl had, as she stooped, become disarranged, and 
as she drew it up around her Mr. N-was at¬ 

tracted by the sparkle of a diamond pin which 
fastened her collar. She returned presently with a 
jewel-case in her hand, and, stepping into a hand¬ 
some carriage which stood at the door, drove off. 
The shivering little girl looked after her for a mo¬ 
ment, and then, with her little half-naked feet 
looking colder than they did before, ran quickly 

away. Mr. N- was interested, and followed 

the little girl, keeping at a short distance behind 
her, until he saw her go down a damp, narrow 
street and into a small, dark room, where her 
mother, sad and faded, but with a face sweet and 
patient, sat hushing and soothing her sick baby. 
The babe was given to the little girl, the bundle 
unrolled, and the mother, with the lielp of a dim 
candle, pursued her work; for, although it was not 




304 


MARGARET GORDON, 


near night, her room was very dark. She bade 
the little girl warm her poor frozen feet over the 
scanty fire, gave her a little piece of bread and 
heard her say her evening prayer, and, kissing her 
for good-night, she blessed her and told her that 
the angels would take care of her. The child slept 
and dreamed such pleasant dreams of warm stock¬ 
ings and new shoes, but the mother sewed on alone, 
and, as the bright spangles glittered on the satin 
slippers, did no repining come into her heart? 
When she thought of her little child’s half-naked 
feet and scant morsel of dry bread, came there no 
visions of a bright room and splendid dresses and 
a table loaded with all that was good, one little 
portion of which spared to her would comfort and 
make her so happy ? If such thoughts came, and 
others—of a pleasant cottage and of one whose 
strong arm had kept them above want, but who 
could never come back—they did not come repin- 
ingly, for the old gentleman heard her say, as she 
clasped her hands, Father, thou doest all things 
well, and I will trust thee.” Just then some one 
came to the door, which, being opened, admitted 
two persons, one of whom, a plain-looking woman, 
carried a large bundle; the other was a young lady, 
who, with a large basket on her arm, looked as if 


305 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 

she had just come from market. Her dress was 
plain; no feathers graced her bonnet nor gayly- 
trimined cloak attracted the public gaze; no dia¬ 
mond pin or costly ornaments were worn to add to 
her beauty. The ornament of the gospel spirit 
Avas her only adornment. She Avent to the bed 
Avhere the children were lying and covered them 
with the soft Avarin blankets Avhich she took from 
the bundle her companion carried. The basket 
Avas emptied, and bread, meat, milk and other good 
articles of food Avere placed upon the table. Then 
going up to the widow, she drew the unfinished 
slipper from her hand and bade her eat and be 
strengthened. 

‘‘ No thanks are due to me,’’ she said, as she laid 
a sum of money to buy fuel in the poor woman’s 
hand; and her voice \Ans like music to the widow, 
Avho could hardly find words to express her grati¬ 
tude. I am but doing as my Master has com¬ 
manded, and am paid in the pleasure in obeying 
the command—the command of Him who bade us 
minister in his name. Bless God, rather, who is 
the helper of the fatherless and the widow.” 

She left hastily, and as she Avent out was heard 
to say, Better than diamonds. 

Miss Mary,” said her companion, what will 
20 


306 


MARGARET GORDON, 


your aunt say when she finds you have not bought 
the diamond ring with the money she gave you 
She will not care when I tell her that I used it 
for something ‘ better than diamonds.’ ” 

^^But your Cousin Mary will appear in her dia¬ 
monds to-morrow night, and you will look so plain 
beside her.” 

“ I shall not regret that when I recall the Image 
of that widow as she sat over her work with tearful 
eyes, and blessed God for the help sent by me.” 

The party was at the house of a relative of Mr. 
N-’s; so he went to it. The rooms were bril¬ 

liant with light; there were music and dancing and 
sweet flowers; young, happy faces and beautiful 
women, richly dressed and sparkling with jewels; 
but he did not know any of them, except the lady 
whose name was written on the slipper, and whose 
diamonds and spangled satin slippers sparkled in 
the bright light. But, after a while, another group 
of young persons passed him, among whom was one 
whose dress was of simple white, and whose voice 
was like the sweet sound of a silver lute. No. 
spangled slipper glittered upon her foot, no dia¬ 
monds flashed amid the masses of her dark hair, 
but she moved as one that treadeth upon the air, 
and the divine beauty of holiness had so glorified 



OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


307 


her face that Mr. N-felt, as he gazed upon her^ 

that she was indeed as an angel of God, and he 
could not help repeating aloud the words he had 
heard her utter, Better than diamonds—better than 
diamonds B 

That is a pretty story, Maggie,’/ said Louisa; 
still, I must say, it is very nice to have diamonds; 
but if the diamonds are only ^ make-believes,’ as 
mamma says Mrs. Hartly’s are, I think, maybe, I 
would rather be in the good young lady’s place 
than in her cousin’s.” 

The evening came, the tree was lighted and the 
rooms filled with company, and the juvenile dissi¬ 
pation was kept up in various houses nearly every 
night until the holidays were over. 

When the boys came home, they had brought 
with them two pets—a young spaniel and a tame 
crow—which were a source of great amusement in 
the nursery for a time. Jolly had been taught 
quite a number of tricks, but the crow, who had 
received the name of Black Peter” from his mas¬ 
ter, George, was the greater favourite of the two, 
on account of his being able, as the children said, 
to talk. Both had free access to the nursery, and 
had l>ehaved well until the day before the boys 



308 


MARGARET GORDON, 


were to go back to school, when they perpetrated a 
piece of mischief which brought them into disgrace. 
Grace was very careless of her playthings, but Mrs. 
Preston had given her a large wax doll at Christ¬ 
mas, which she prized above any present she had 
ever received, and accordingly took more care of. 
On the day above mentioned. Jolly had upset the 
doll’s cradle and dragged the waxen lady by her 
satin dress round the room, and Black Peter, join¬ 
ing in the sport, had picked her eyes and made a 
most unsightly hole in her nose. Grace flew to 
rescue her doll, but the attempt was not made 
without some difficulty; the spaniel barked his 
displeasure at the interference, but the crow re¬ 
sented it in a more summary manner, for he bit 
the little girl’s finger until the blood flowed. Her 
loud outcries alarmed Mrs. Ainslie, who came at 
once, condoled with Grace, reprimanded Margaret 
for not preventing the mischief, pronounced sen¬ 
tence of banishment on the two culprits, and told 
the boys their pets must be given in charge of the 
gardener, who lived at the foot of the lot, until 
they returned. This sentence was at once carried 
into effect. The boys went back to school, and by 
degrees the usual routine of life was resumed in the 
Ainslie family. 


CHAPTER XVI. 
mystery and suspicion—lesson of the FIRE-FLY* 


^ NOTHER spring came, warm and genial; tlie 
buds were bursting into leaf, the hedges bright 
with wild flowers and the garden filled with 
green-house plants, and, greatly to the delight of 
the children, they were permitted to play in the 
open air. Jolly and Black Peter,^^ released from 
imprisonment, although not suffered to enter the 
house, were onee more their playfellows. The 
crow was rather a favourite with the gardener, who 
hung up his cage on a tree, but leaving it open. 
Black PeteP^ went in and out at pleasure. Crows 
do not like to be confined, and finding himself at 
liberty to go where he pleased, Peter availed him¬ 
self of the favour, and accordingly passed much 
more of his time amid the branches of the sycamore 
that overhung the nursery windows—which were 
now often open—than he did within the limits of 
the garden or bars of his cage. There was about 
* Translated from the German. 

309 


310 


MARGARET GORDON, 


this time a great deal of uneasiness in the family on 
account of the disappearance of several articles, 
most of them being of more than ordinary value. 
Tea and salt-spoons were missing. . Mrs. Ainslie 
had lost two rings from the nursery-table, where 
she had forgotten them; Louisa could not find her 
gold thimble—Aunt Fanny’s Christmas gift—and 
blamed Grace for having lost it; and Margaret, 
although always careful and anxious, could not 
imagine Avhere the gold clasp of the baby’s sleeves 
had got to. The servants of course w’ere suspected, 
but nothing could be discovered. At length sus¬ 
picion fell on a little boy, the son of a poor but very 
honest washerwoman, to whom Mrs. Ainslie allowed 
the cook to give broken victuals; he was in the 
habit of coming every day for what would other¬ 
wise have been thrown away, which was of great im¬ 
portance to his mother; but now he was taxed with 
being the thief, and accordingly forbidden ever to 
enter the house again. Nevertheless, the depreda¬ 
tions still continued, although the missing articles 
were of less value than those above named, and Mrs. 
Ainslie was puzzled. She talked a great deal about 
the dishonesty of servants, and suspected all, but 
took no steps to discover the missing articles. 

One day, as she sat in the parlor talking with 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


311 


Mrs. Preston, two ladies were aniioiinced. The 
conversation turned on that fruitful subject of com¬ 
plaint—namely, the trouble with servants. 

I am without a cook,^’ said Mrs. Brooks; ^^these 
servants are the greatest plagues! they will posi¬ 
tively wear my life out.’^ 

« Why, where is Hannah, whom you have had 
so long?’’ asked Mrs. Ainslie. 

I turned her off at a minute’s warning for her 
insolence. She was an excellent servant, but I 
won’t bear insolence. I ordered her to do the work 
of the chambermaid, who had a sore throat, and 
she refused, saying she could not do it. She had 
often done it before, but it seems that she and Jane 
were in a quarrel, and so she would not oblige me 
for fear of obliging Jane, to whom she had not 
spoken for a week. I sent her right off, but I was 
in a terrible fix, with Jane sick and everything to 
do myself. After a few days I got a cook—an Irish 
girl—who said she could do everything, and I be¬ 
lieved I had a perfect treasure, but I only kept her 
two days. She was very quiet and neat-looking, 
and I did not do much on the first day but overlook 
her; and everything was so nicely done I was sure 
she was as competent as she said she was; therefore, 
on the next day I let her have her own way. We 


312 


MARGARET GORDON, 


are all fond of radishes, and having bought some in 
market, I told Biddy we would have them for tea, 
but when she called us and we took our seats at the 
table, no radishes were there. 

^ Why, Biddy,’ I asked, ^ where are the rad¬ 
ishes ? I do not see them.’ 

^ Sure, ma’am, I biled them, and there they are,’ 
and pointed to a queer-looking mess. ^ Wasn’t it 
right?’ 

I was too angry for anything, and I bade her 
go down into the kitchen and eat her supper and 
then pack otf, which the stupid thing did without 
saying a word.” 

Indeed,” said Mrs. Dalton, these foreign ser¬ 
vants are dreadful things—they get so high. I 
had an excellent German girl, but she got to dress¬ 
ing too much lately, and, what was worse, she tried 
to get everything the same as I had. One day I 
met her in the entry, going out of the front door, 
dressed for a walk, with a parasol exactly like mine. 
I thought perhaps she had borrowed mine, and 
asked where she got it ? ^ I bought it,’ she an¬ 

swered, very saucily. ^It is very unsuitable for 
one in your condition,’ said I, and then gave her a 
lecture on wearing such unsuitable clothes. She 
answered that she had a right to spend her money 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


313 


as she pleased, and told me to look out for another 
girl, and so went off at once/^ 

I know,^’ said Mrs. Ainslie, that servants are 
very trying, but I am more fortunate than you have 
been. I have one who really does the work of two 
people, and sometimes of three, for she is not only 
the baby^s nurse, but teaches the other children, 
and has saved me the expense of a seamstress ever 
since she has been here.’^ 

But then you must give her more than double 
wages,^^ said Mrs. Brooks; but folks who do so 
much work seldom do it well.’^ 

I give her good wages,^^ said Mrs. Ainslie, eva¬ 
sively, and she is an exception to the general rule; 
she does her work well.^^ 

After the ladies had departed, the conversation 
relative to the trial caused by her servants was con¬ 
tinued by Mrs. Ainslie and her aunt. The former 
observed that the affair of the radishes, although 
laughable,, was very provoking, and she thought 
that Mrs. Brooks did perfectly right to dismiss the 
stupid creature at once. 

I do not think so,’’ replied Mrs. Preston; I 
cannot excuse Mrs. Brooks as readily as I can the 
poor girl, who did wrong from ignorance rather 
than intention; for, in sending her away at such au 


314 


MARGARET GORDON, 


hour and in such a way, when perhaps the poor 
girl had no home to go to, she did not obey the 
scriptural command, which bids the strong to bear 
with the infirmities of the weak, and not (to seek 
only) to please themselves,^as so many think only 
of doing. It is not always easy to be forbearing, 
for there are a great many careless and some un¬ 
principled servants; but I think there are many 
mistresses, too, who do not make allowance enough 
for those who are ignorant, but drive them off, as 
Mrs. Brooks did, on every trifling occasion.’^ 

‘^That is true enough,^’ said Mrs. Ainslie, ^‘but 
more than half the time it is the servant's fault. 
It is not easy to put up with insolence.” 

“ It certainly is not; but if every lady would 
consider the servants engaged in her household as 
beings brought to her by the providence of God, 
she would try in a missionary spirit to exert such 
an influence over them as might in time produce a 
wonderful effect. If such 'an exertion did not ren¬ 
der them at once what they ought to be, it could 
not fail to make them better than they would have 
been without it; for though it might be only one 
step forward, it would be so much gained. Why 
so many refuse to do any little things which they 
consider it not their places to do, or serve just so 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


315 


far as they tliink best for themselves, or that so very 
few feel any anxiety about the interests of those 
they live with, is because they think that their em¬ 
ployers try to get as much work from them as they 
can and at as low wages as possible/^ 

But it was very insolent in Hannah to refuse 
to do Janets work when Mrs. Brooks told her to 
do it.’^ 

Perhaps Mrs. Brooks spoke in a manner which 
touched the girPs pride, and she refused to obey a 
command when she would readily have fulfilled a 
request. She had no right to exact obedience in 
this case; she might request, but not command. 
A servant will only be submissive in those things 
in which he has agreed to obey you, or respectful 
so long as you fulfil your obligations to him; he 
only agrees to obey in everything that concerns the 
service he has undertaken, and it is unjust and ab¬ 
surd to expect servants to labour for you beyond 
their strength, or to do another’s task unless they 
are paid for their extra work. And of this latter, 
Clara, are you not yourself guilty ? You admitted 
that Margaret did the work of two servants, some¬ 
times of three, yet you only give her the wages of 
one. This is unjust. I have long wished that you 
could see that close confinement and incessant ap- 


316 


MARGARET GORDON, 


plication are injuring her health ; without a change 
she will break down ere long/' 

Mrs. Ainslie was startled. She liked Margaret, 
and would have been sorry to think she had 
wronged her. But, considering servants as an in¬ 
ferior class, she never troubled herself to care 
whether they were well or ill, provided they did 
their work; and was perfectly satisfied that no do¬ 
mestics were so comfortably cared for as her own. 
She replied, she did not see that anything ailed 
]\[argaret, who never complained; and she was 
sure could not get a better home if she left her; and 
she had no idea of humouring servants every time 
they were a little unwell." 

There is no need of humouring," Mrs. Pres¬ 
ton said, “ but only to do right. Masters and ser¬ 
vants stand mutually in need of each other, and so 
it is to the advantage of both that the former 
should be kind and the latter respectful. Oh, 
Clara, absorbed in their own interests, pursuits 
and pleasures, how fearfully callous are even the 
best to the emotions or eternal welfare of others! 
As they hurry along the broad and business- 
crowded road of life, how few pause to think that 
each heart has its own mighty world of feelings, its 
struggles, passions and temptations; that each has 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


317 


a separate soul an individual existence—tlie one 
^priceless, peerless talent’ of a life to improve!” 

Mrs. Ainslie was so far influenced by what her 
aunt had said that Margaret was next day sent 
with the children to the square. She seated her¬ 
self on one of the benches, while the baby slept on 
her lap, watching over Grace and Philip as they 
drove their hoops up and down the walk. Louisa, 
who never cared for active sports, soon grew tired, 
and came and sat down beside her. 

Look there, Maggie!” she exclaimed; look 
at that poor little girl; she seems as if she wanted 
something.”* And as she spoke, the child, as if she 
read sympathy in her face, came quite near and 
stretched out her hand with a motion not to be 
mistaken. Her clothes w’ere clean, but scanty and 
poor; her sun-bonnet had fallen back, and showed 
her thin face, which was covered with a deep blush 
as she spoke a few unintelligible words, and which 
told that she was unaccustomed to beg, Margaret 
spoke kindly to her, and the child, after telling 
where she lived, said that her mother, who bound 
shoes and sewed for a living, was sick, and they 
had nothing to eat all day, and she had to beg just 
to get some bread, for they were so hungry. They 
had come from the country when their father died, 


318 


MARGARET GORDON, 


for lier mother could not get anything to do there, 
where so many did their own work. But she had 
to work so close that it had made her sick, but if 
she got well they would go back to the country. 
Margaret gave the child something, and Louisa, 
who was always well supplied with pocket-money, 
gave all that she had in her purse; Grace, too, 
contributed her mite, but she had laid out most of 
her money in cakes and candy, and the little girFs 
eyes sparkled as she surveyed her gains. 

“Oh just come nowand see mother; it is quite 
near—just down that court. She will thank you 
so. Maybe I won’t have to beg again, for mother 
says it is disgraceful.” 

“ Oh, Maggie, let us go !” exclaimed Grace and 
Louisa at once; “ it is time to go home now, and 
that’ll be just in our way.” 

The little girl lingered; she wished that they 
should see her mother. But Margaret turned a 
deaf ear to their entreaties, although they were 
urgent: 

“ No; your mamma has strictly forbidden that 
you should be taken anywhere but to the square. 
She is afraid you may catch some disease.” 

“And then you won’t look after the poor 
things ?” said Louisa, in a tone of reproach. 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


319 


Not now, at least,’’ was the reply. We must 
never do one duty at the expense of another; and 
my first duty in this case is to obey your mother.” 

Just then she heard some one calling her name, 
and, to her great surprise and pleasure, found it 
was Martha Harding, who was out on an errand 
for Miss Marshall. Nothing could have been 
more opportune than this meeting. The little girl, 
who was still beside them, told her own story. 
Martha accompanied her to her home, and, finding 
that all she said was true, she reported the case to 
Miss Marshall. The invalid lady delighted in 
acts of benevolence, and Margaret not long after¬ 
ward had the pleasure of hearing that the widow 

had left-court, and was set up in a little shop, 

by which she made a comfortable living. Louisa, 
for the first time in her life, experienced the luxury 
of doing good. 

Maggie,” said she, when I saw that little 
girl looking so happy when we gave her the money 
—and it was so little—I felt happy too. I could 
not help thinking of the story you read me the 
other day, and now I am sure that the pleasure of 
doing good is ‘ better than diamonds.’ ” 



CHAPTER XVII. 


LESSON OF THE FIRE-FLY. THE PARTY AND THE “MAKE- 
BELIEVES." 

JjjVARGARET/’ said Xorali, as she came into 
111 the nursery one morning quite early, “you 
must go to Mrs, Ainslie’s room and sew all 
day, and I have to mind the children. You are 
wanted to help Miss Dixon, who has been there 
for an hour, to get the new dress that came from 
New York ready for Mrs. Ainslie to wear to Mrs. 
Hardy’s grand party to-night.” 

Margaret found Miss Dixon at work; every 
chair and table was covered with costly materials 
for dress, and Mrs. Ainslie was examining a large 
box of beautiful and expensive French artificial 
flowers. At length she selected a bunch which she 
declared suited the colours of her new dress just as 
exactly as if made on purpose to be worn with it. 

“ Did you ever see anything more perfect than 
those white roses and purple campanulas? Just 
look, Margaret—^)’ou love flowers so well—how 

320 



CAN I FORGIVE? 


321 


lovely they are, and made of such elegant mate¬ 
rials ! All silk fabric—no cotton about them. 
Tell William to take them back to Madame Le¬ 
roy’s and tell her which one I have selected, and 
that she must be sure to have my head-dress ready 
by four o’clock, or I shall not patronize her again.” 

It was a hard day for Margaret; the weather 
was oppressively warm. She was languid and suf¬ 
fering from a severe headache; still, she did not 
complain, but sewed on until after dark, when the 
dress was completed. Nor was the poor worn-out 
seamstress in much better plight, but such things 
happen every day where people are selfish. The 
head-dress was sent at the specified time and pro¬ 
nounced perfect; and equally satisfied with the 
dress, Mrs. Ainslie surveyed herself in the tall 
mirror, and, in high good-humour with her own 
appearance, went to the party, never once thinking 
or caring that her pleasure had been obtained at 
the price of suffering by others. 

Margaret, wearied and depressed, went to the 
nursery, but found no one there but a little girl, 
who was playing with the baby; but she heard the 
children’s voices in the garden, and she went to 
seek them there. It was against the rules for them 

to be out after dark, but there was some company 
21 


322 


MARGARET GORDON, 


in the kitchen, and Norah, taking advantage of the 
bustle of getting ready for the party, and intending 
to remain but a few minutes, went down stairs, 
telling the children they might play in the garden 
a little while longer, and satisfied her conscience by 
sending Lucy, the cook’s little niece, to watch the 
baby. Margaret found the children in high glee, 
chasing and catching fire-flies, which they had done 
so successfully that Louisa and Grace had stuck 
them on the long combs with which they kept 
back their hair, making them look as if spangled. 
As Philip wore no comb, they had ornamented his 
face in like manner, never taking thought of how 
many of those insects they had killed, or how sin¬ 
ful it is to waste the life even of the meanest crea¬ 
tures, for life is a gift which, although man may 
take away, none but God, the great Creator, can 
bestow. 

Don’t we look nice in our spangles, Maggie?” 
said Louisa. You know w^e read the other day 
of the ladies of South America wearing fire-flies in 
their hair, and I thought it was so pretty; and so 
it is. Don’t you think it is, Maggie ?” 

No,” said Margaret; I cannot think anything 
is pretty when I know it is wrong; and it is not 
only wrong but sinful to waste life unnecessarily. 


OE CAN I FORGIVEf 


323 


I remember once, wlien my sister Mary and little 
Anne Brown did the same thing, what a lecture 
our father gave them on the subject. He told 
them that the same great Being who made them¬ 
selves and the immense sky, which, filled with 
stars, was above and around them, formed also the 
little insects which are often trodden under foot; 
and how sinful it was to deprive them of the life 
that God had given and which they could not re¬ 
store. And then he told them a little story, which 
he said was found in a German book, telling about 
a poor family to whom a little fire-fly was made an 
instrument of Providence, serving, as he said, to 
show that God notices the most insignificant of his 
creatures, and can make them ministers of his 
will.^’ 

Oh tell us that story, Maggie said Louisa. 

did not think that God cared for such poor 
little things as fire-flies. I should like to have 
heard your father talk. He must have been very 
good, for you tell us so many pretty things that he 
said."’ 

Margaret made no reply, but, taking little Philip 
by the hand, told them that, as it was their bed¬ 
time, they must now go at once to the nursery. 
Great was the surprise of Louisa and Grace to find 


324 


MARGARET GORDON, 


that their , spangles had vanished as soon as they 
came in the light; nothing but-little gray sj^ots were 
found in their place. 

Oh, Maggie,^’ begged Louisa, tell us that 
story while you are washing the fire-flies off Phil¬ 
ip’s face and fixing him for going to bed ?” 

I have a bad headache and am very tired,” said 
Margaret; but I will tell you the story, for you 
may think of it some time when you see cliildren 
killing flies or insects, or torturing anything which 
God has made. I cannot tell it as my father tokl 
it, but will do the best I can: 

/‘A poor widow, whose name was Maria, sat 
one evening of a hot summer day at an open win¬ 
dow, looking out on the little orchard which sur¬ 
rounded her cottage. The grass had been mown in 
the morning, but the hot sun had dried it, and she 
had already gathered it into heaps, and the sweet 
smell of the hay blew into her little room as if to 
refresh her after her labour. Little Fritz, her only 
child, a boy six years old, stood leaning against the 
window-frame, watching the moonlight as it fell on 
the trees and made everything visible. The heat 
had made labour- oppressive to both, but a heavier 
burden rested on the widow’s heart, and made her 
forget how tired she was. The boy was sad too, 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


325 


for he knew that they had eaten their last supper 
in their happy home, and on the morrow they must 
leave it, for it was to be sold. Maria was a pious 
and industrious woman, and was greatly respected 
by her neighbours. Her husband, a most worthy 
man, had by his industry saved enough to buy the 
little cottage with its meadow and orchard; they 
had lived happy together until the last fall, when 
an epidemic fever broke out in the neighbourhood: 
both were seized by it, and her husband died. 
Their long sickness and the funeral expenses had 
more than exhausted their slender means, and she 
found that she must now part with her little cottage. 
Her husband had worked for a man who esteemed 
him highly for his industry and honesty, and had 
lent him part of the money to buy the cottage, on 
condition that he would pay off the debt partly in 
money and partly by labour. Until the year that 
he was taken sick he had faithfully performed his 
agreement, and the debt was now only fifty dollars. 
The creditor, however, died of the same disease in 
the same week, and his heirs found -the note for 
the original sum among his papers, but no ac¬ 
count had been taken of the payments made. The 
poor woman knew that the debt was nearly paid, 
but as she had no writing to prove it, the case was 


326 


MARGARET GORDON, 


tried and decided against her; the heirs insisted on 
payment, and the time appointed for the sale had 
come. As she sat at the window weeping, little 
Fritz came to her and said : 

^ Mother, do not cry so, or I can-t talk to you. 
Don’t you remember that father said, God is a father 
to poor widows and orphans, and told us, too, that 
he would help them if they called upon him in 
their trouble. This is what he said, and is it not 
true? If it is, I am sure you ought not to'cry so. 
Pray to God, and he will help you.’ 

“^My good child, you are right,’ said his 
mother, and her tears flowed less bitterly, for 
there was comfort mingled with her sorrow. She 
folded her arms round her boy, and tlie bright 
moon shone down on the mother and child as they 
prayed together. 

^ Mother,’ said little Fritz, breaking the silence 
that ensued, ^ look ! Avhat is that ? It is a star fly¬ 
ing. See, it is coming in at the windows. How 
light and pretty. What is it ?’ 

^ It is a fire-fly,’ said his mother. ' In the day¬ 
time it is a small insect not at all pretty, but in 
the night it gives out a most beautiful light.’ 

^ May I catch it?’ said the boy. ‘ Will not the 
light burn me? or will it hurt me?’ 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 327 

‘ It will not burn you or do you any harm. 
Catch it, but do not hurt it. It is one of the won¬ 
ders of God^s almighty power.’ 

The boy, entirely forgetful of his sorrow, now 
tried to catch the bright insect, but could not, for 
it flew everywhere; but at last, just when he 
thought he had it, it flew under the large chest 
which stood against the wall. 

^ I see it quite plain,’ said the boy, as he looked 
under the chest. ^ Look ! there it is, shining, close 
to the wall, but I cannot reach it. Mother, please 
let us move the chest a little; I won’t hurt the 
little thing.’ 

The mother complied; the boy took the quiet 
fire-fly and examined it in the hollow of his little 
hand. But, as his mother moved the chest, some¬ 
thing which had stuck between it and the wall fell 
upon the floor. It was her husband’s account- 
book, which, as she could not find it, she believed 
had been destroyed, as being of no use, by stran¬ 
gers who had been about her while she was so ill. 
She lighted a lamp, and, as she turned over the 
leaves, found that everything was correctly put 
down, and a receipt written on the last page, in the 
creditor’s own hand, that all was paid except fifty 
dollars. How her sorrow was changed into joy! 


328 


MARGARET GORDON, 


for now it could be shown tliat the money was 
paid, they need not give np tlicir home: 

“ ‘ See, my boy,^ said she, ^ nothing comes by 
chance. Even the hairs of onr heads are numbered ; 
not one of them falls to the ground without the 
knowledge of our heavenly Father. Remember 
this as long as you live, and put your trust in 
him at all times. It is easy for him to aid and 
to save. God does not need to send a shining 
angel to us, but has sent us help by a poor little 
insect.’ 

‘^She could scarcely wait until the dawn api)earcd; 
the magistrate lived at some distance, but when the 
first streak of light showed that the day had arisen, 
she at once went to him, and to her great joy found 
him at home. She told her tale, and he at once 
sent for her creditor. He came and acknowledged 
the writing was genuine, and was very sorry that 
he had injured her and given her so much trouble. 
The magistrate, who was a just man, declared that 
he owed her some recompense for the shame and 
sorrow he had caused her. This the young man 
was at first unwilling to make, but when the poor 
woman had related the whole account of the even¬ 
ing before, and the appearance of the fire-fly, the 
magistrate said; 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


329 


^ The hand of God is here; he has visibly 
hel[)ed this poor Avoinan/ 

The creditor’s heart was moved, and he said, 
kindly : 

. ‘Yes, it is so; God is the father of the widow 
and the fatherless, and their avenger also. Pray 
forgive me; I release you from the payment of the 
fifty dollars, and if again you are in need, come to 
me. I now see clearly that God never forsakes 
those who trust in him, and that confidence in him 
is better than great riches. And if I ever come to 
Avant, or my Avife should be a AvidoAv and my chil¬ 
dren orphans, may he help us ev^en as he has helped 
you.’ 

“And noAv, Miss Louisa,” added Margaret, “I 
Avill only say to you Avhat father said to us then: 
‘Despise not nor seek to hurt-the smallest or 
meanest creature that lives, for His hand created 
them, and in his providence can make them minis¬ 
ters of his Avill.’ So let us always trust in him, 
’and try to act upright, and then Ave may claim the 
fulfilment of the promise that help Avill be granted 
in the time of need. But Grace and Philip are 
both asleep, and it is time for you, too. Miss 
Louisa, to go to bed.” ' 

“ I could listen longer,” said Louisa, as she 


S30 


MARGARET GORDON, 


obeyed her nurse; and, kneeling down, she said 
her prayers with a sincere wish to do right, and, 
lying down with a mind at peace with all, she fell 
asleep almost immediately. 

On the evening of the party, Mrs. Aiuslie had 
worn a set of jewels by which she set great store, 
but which, with her usual carelessness, she had left 
lying in an open box on her table, where they re¬ 
mained for some days. At length she discovered 
that one of them, an amethyst brooch, was gone, 
and also a costly piece of lace. Search was made 
in every place they were thought likely to be, but 
all in vain—they were not to be found. Mrs. 
Ainslie was greatly vexed, and reprimanded Norah 
sharply for the carelessness which was her own, 
and in so doing made some intimations which 
wounded the poor girl and roused her spirit, so 
that she repelled the insinuations in a rather unbe¬ 
coming manner. Norah was a good servant, honest 
and capable. She had been with Mrs. Ainslie for a 
long time, and proved herself trustworthy in a de¬ 
gree above the common. But Mrs. Ainslie, although 
she prized the girPs services, was among those per¬ 
sons who seem to believe that servants have no 
feelings, and therefore in her resentment at Norah’s 
insolence,’’ as she called it, forgot herself in her 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


331 


angry accusations. Norali, although very ignorant 
on the subject of religion, was possessed of acute 
sensibilities and great pride of character. This 
made her superior as a servant, and she did her 
work well, out of respect to herself as well as duty 
to her mistress. But she now declared she would 
not stay another day in a house where she was sus¬ 
pected of dishonesty, and accordingly left at once 
without a recommendation, Mrs. Ainslie, in her 
anger, refusing to give her one. 

Margaret was very sorry to see Norah go; she 
liked her for her many good qualities, and pitied 
her for her ignorance, and strove to do her good. 
Norah, after her angry fit was over, was sorry too, 
but, in spite of every argument and entreaty, she 
would not stay. Margaret’s conversation and ex¬ 
ample had exerted a great influence over her mind, 
and for some time she had begun to think that 
she too ought to be a Christian, and regretted that 
she had given way to the sallies of temper which 
had caused her to leave the salutary atmosphere 
in which she had lately been living. She was sin- 
.cerely attached to Margaret: she had often served 
or met with girls who were kind-hearted, obliging 
and possessed of various good qualities—some even 
professing to be followers of the Saviour—but she 


332 


MARGARET GORDON, 


had never before been intimate with one who gov¬ 
erned herself by Christian principle, sought to 
regulate her conduct by the will of God and dis¬ 
charged her daily duties as under the All-seeing 
eye. Nor were the lessons or example ever forgot¬ 
ten. She found a place with one who had ever in 
view the future good and happiness of her servants, 
and thus the little seed sown by the missionary 
spirit of a humble servant-girl was fostered until 
it grew and produced fruit even to sixty-fold. 

The girl who came in Norah’s place was not one 
with whom Margaret could be intimate, for she 
found her frivolous and untruthful. She, however, 
soon won Mrs. Ainslie’s favour by her adroit flat¬ 
tery, and by knowing how to do up her laces and 
dress her hair to perfection. 

Although there had been a constant round of 

gayety in C- that summer, Mrs. Ainslie had 

given no party, preferring to put it off until she re¬ 
turned from her annual excursion. She was ab¬ 
sent some weeks, and finding that all had gone on 
well at home, and in high good-humour with her¬ 
self, she determined to give a party on a grand 
scale. No trouble or expense was to be spared; 
her purse allowed her full freedom, and- her large, 
elegant house was the very place where she could 



OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


333 


exhibit her intended triumph and overpower her 
guests with the magnificence of her entertainment. 
Her rooms were admirably adapted for the projected 
display. The two large parlours were decorated to 
receive the guests; but a third room, belonging to 
the suite, was to be arranged differently. The 
whole upper side of this room, and in full view 
from the parlours, was partitioned off with ever¬ 
greens, and looked like a forest; in the middle of 
this a platform was raised, on which was placed a 
miniature fountain, from whose sparkling jets, as 
the water fell back into the basin below, a spray 
was formed, which kept fresh the few natural flowers 
Mrs. Ainslie had been able to procure, and, tastefully 
intermixed with evergreens, turned the platform 
in front of the fountain into a miniature flower- 
garden. The space between the windows where it 
stood was filled up by a deep arch or grotto, made 
of the branches of green sjiruce, extending over 
the platform and fountain, and, with the flower- 
garden, ornamented as it was with statuettes, had 
a beautiful effect. 

There was one great want, however, which Mrs. 
Ainslie had not once thought of. It was so late in 
the season that very few flowers could be had from 
the gardens, and none of her green-house plants 


334 


MARGARET GORDON, 


were in bloom. An expedient, however, presented 
itself. Artificial flowers must supply the place of 
natural ones, and to do so would be easy. Paper 
flowers had lately been introduced, and although 
largely used by the fashionable world in cities, had 

not yet been seen in C-. Anne, the new servant, 

had lived in the family of a French lady in N-, 

who made a living in this way, and was quite an 
adept in the art. The materials were at once sent 

for to N-, and, Margaret assisting, a quantity 

was made in a very short time, and with no small 
degree of skill. Roses, camellias and a great va¬ 
riety of other flowers sprung up under their ready 
hands, and, under Mrs. Ainslie’s direction, were so 
neatly fastened on the green-house plants that, un¬ 
less most closely observed, the cheat could not be 
detected. 

The flower-pots were then arranged within the 
grotto or placed to advantage round the room, and 
shielded from too close an approach by a network 
of wire, painted white, somewhat resembling an or¬ 
namental fence, and added greatly to the beautiful 
effect. Bunches of these paper flowers were placed 
among the evergreens, and wreaths of the same 
hung over the parlour windows at such a height 
that they could not be examined. The afternoon 





OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


335 


came, the arrangements were completed, and Mrs. 
Ainslie, anxious to see the effect by artificial light, 
had the windows closed and the rooms lighted up. 
It was a complete success, and the whole family 
was called in to witness the grand display. Louisa, 
who had been staying in the country with her aunt 
during Mrs. Ainslie’s absence, had that day re¬ 
turned. Mrs. Preston accompanied her, but, not¬ 
withstanding her niece’s entreaties, would not con¬ 
sent to stay for the party. She was ready to leave 
when the family was called to admire the completed 
work, but, at Mrs. Ainslie’s request, went into the 
decorated rooms with the rest. 

What do you think of my ^make-believes,’ Aunt 
Fanny?” said Mrs. Ainslie, laughing; do you think 
any one will find out that they are only made of 
paper ? I am sure they look quite as well, at a 
little distance, as natural flowers.” 

“ They certainly are very pretty, and your whole 
arrangement is both tasteful and beautiful. But 
why do you call them ^ make-believes ?’ ” said Mrs. 
Preston; “you certainly do not intend your guests 
to believe they are natural flowers ?—that would be 
deceiving.” 

“They may think what they please,” was the 
reply. “ I know no one will know that they are 


336 


MARGARET GORDON, 


only paper flowers, and I am sure, after taking all 
tills trouble, I am not going to tell. them. But you 
look so serious. Aunt Fanny; surely you don^t see 
any harm in such a trifling deception.^^ 

I do see harm in it, Clara, for all kinds of de¬ 
ceptions are wrong, and you may be well assured 
that we can never deceive without injuring some 
one, and that there can be no unfair advantage 
which is not gained at the expense of some one.’’ 

But really, aunt, this ^make-believe’ matter is 
so very trifling.” 

True, it is a very trifling case, but the principle 
is the same, for deception is intended,” said Mrs. 
Preston. There is but little or no difference be¬ 
tween the acted and the spoken falsehood, and in 
the wish to gain praise for having flowers in such 
perfection you are exacting unmerited praise. 
There is no harm in having those paper flowers, 
which look very beautiful; the harm is in mislead¬ 
ing people to believe that they are genuine when 
they are not. Uprightness and honesty ought to 
be practiced in the most trifling as Avell as the 
greatest things in life, and there is always insin¬ 
cerity in an endeavour to obtain admiration by false 
seemings or subterfuge of any kind.” 

“Why, Aunt Fanny,” said Mrs. Ainslie, “you 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


337 


talk as seriously as if I had done something dread- 
fuL These things are done every day; life is made 
up of seemings and appearances. Almost every¬ 
thing in the world is false and ^ make-believe/ like 
Mrs. Hartly’s diamonds. To be altogether sincere 
would be very troublesome, for it would keep us 
constantly watching ourselves and others. I sup¬ 
pose what you say is true, but I am not any worse 
than my neighbours, and it has not put me at all 
out of conceit with my ^ make-believes.’ ” 

Do not be offended, Clara, if T say, farther, that 
first, we display very little respect or consideration 
for ourselves when we stoop to deceive others in 
order to be flattered, or complimented, or envied 
for having elegances above our neighbours; sec¬ 
ondly, these kinds of stratagems, when they are 
discovered—and they are oftener discovered than 
people imagine—may overwhelm with ridicule, or 
even with shame, and the most trifling untruth ex¬ 
poses to a risk flir greater than the pleasure it pro¬ 
cures if successful. And then the example: chil¬ 
dren cannot be taught too early to reverence the 
truth, which they will not do unless they see it 
practiced as well as hear it taught.” 

The children were standing close by while this 
conversation was going forward. Would time show 
22 


338 MARGARET GORDON, 

that any part of it was remembered? We shall 
see. 

It was a brilliant spectacle when Mrs. Ainslie’s 
rooms were lighted up, and a gay party assembled 
to admire and wonder and envy the display cre¬ 
ated by wealth and taste. Mrs. Ainslie, who had 
forgotten Mrs. Preston’s lecture, made herself par¬ 
ticularly agreeable, and enjoyed in full the triumph 
she anticipated. It was so delightful to be compli¬ 
mented on the great taste and beauty of the ar¬ 
rangement, and to hear the remarks made on such 
an exhibition of flowers at a season when every one 
was regretting that summer was nearly over; but 
she told no one that the flowers were unreal. The 
children, in their best dresses, flitted everywhere 
around the rooms, first joining one group and then 
another. Grace attracted particular observation, as, 
beautifully dressed, she ran about listening or talk¬ 
ing in perfect liberty. The evening was well ad¬ 
vanced. Everything had gone on smoothly when 
the little girl approached a party of ladies, who, 
standing beside a refreshment-table, were discuss¬ 
ing other matters than the good things heaped 
upon it. 

How much taste Mrs. Ainslie has!” said one; 
nothing can be prettier than these rooms. ” 





The “Make Believe.” 

"-■ Page 339. 














































































4rf,l m' «^«iVJ)^^^o) nef\ t 4 v>ft^> il 

: . ■• . V A(\ii p^di^>f^i[; Jbfti^ 

tor? &hhq-%'intf'4o v;d<{8ij> a >J 

mu?, jfi .'Vjftd i'lhii ,ir?f .(ft‘ii'd>i ^ ai 

*\ 7{<4:m n>. iii^ u*>‘>fI’Ar 

nr> tu>* eiAh^ jiodio 

•4^- •^'^Sv'i/&i(i-x) ‘)tij[.jii .ee^wod 

' ' ;f»oinP rro IldVcw^^ od t ti&di 

?n hijfe ,"-10 .<r-(uv/ $m/iti (dOf 

. ^vtthjj»d vUJmU ;0^ W: nflr^l’iuf ‘‘Jiu’* i>U> DT)dy 

^ M^it Oi’^' ^ »fM ,'k^iiiii Iwlifja*! ’ 7/K) '' 

• )<■ ^ '1' »d)K{!r j ;i..W buc^'OiuTA ; 

.7i\\ .' j. viVii4W'^j>w * yiiTAv rryr -/c^ fitntrti[rU 

» ■ ’ ‘'.ftlnioiiTurf) «r-yt;)taii ,^riM 

%. ;jon >.ii 'S^moo 'idl r.Bv a^uidia fiA 

i-Ml ).>Il»‘'i‘'iiiO r dv/',/IVlij:]! .a/l/; , nir'.{>]fysil» eult 

'‘tl'nf OrltO^- >v ' .iH 

.t'ifi.t/n^Tl’{im: oJ vfi’^'fl 

.'.iiv: > ]• -; «i-j.^fio9«»!f>biitio iiidi 0»tr} .. >>dt 

'•v.J‘j/jtjl^. T-'«' . ')!fW|j||‘®n^rfitfffiKfl ‘ifii; 

•>d) >aU'o?'if' 't qiiu's^ ‘«':i; -dj \^ie>dl'W 

Hi.i> i!tult 0) avjjvoh ; .i>. i^^^•ff^alh 
Q$U ,iy/^ ^rrom i-.in-»(f:i- Qi^iii oj twr/i VinM«o& 
Id 'ruob ojqe haah ysrJi lijify/ I>iife ^niiiooay 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


339 


It is very easy for her to entertain in this way/^ 
said another; she has a long purse/^ 

It is a great display of purse-pride and vanity/^ 
chimed in a third; it must have cost a great sum 
to buy all these flowers/^ 

I wonder where she got so many/^ rejoined an¬ 
other ; she must have bought out all the green¬ 
houses in the country/^ 

Just then the speaker’s eye fell on Grace: 

‘^Oh, come here, you pretty one, and tell us 
where did your mamma get so many beautiful 
flowers ?” 

Oh,” replied Grace, they are not ^ sure-enough^ 
flowers; Anne and Maggie made them of paper. 
Mamma says they are only ^make-believes/ like 
Mrs. Hartly’s diamonds.” 

An embarrassed silence was the consequence of 
this disclosure. Mrs. Hartly, whom Grace did not 
know had been the last speaker, made some indif¬ 
ferent remark and moved away to another part of 
the room; and the child, unconscious of the mis¬ 
chief she had done, ran off to amuse herself else¬ 
where, leaving the amused group to discuss the 
make-believe” diamonds and flowers to their full 
content, and to make themselves merry over the 
mocking and what they called tinsel splendour of 


340 


MARGARET GORDON, 


both. Of what worth, then, is such petty am¬ 
bition? The world has no respect for its worship¬ 
pers, and even when it most smiles upon them, it 
is the most inclined to censure or make sport of 
their folly. Before the evening was over, the affair 
of the mahe-believes^^ had gone the round of the 
company, and before the evening of the next day 
one of those hind friends, whom almost every one 
has, had told her all. Poor Mrs Ainslie! Where 
was her triumph now ? In proportion as she had 
been elated, so was she now mortified, and some¬ 
what humbled she acknowledged to her aunt that 
after all truth was better than seeming.” But not 
less irritated than mortified, she declared that she 
would never give another party, and that she would 
punish Grace for what mischief she had made so 
severely that she would remember it as long as she 
lived. 

Clara,” said Mrs. Preston, in whose presence 
this threat was made, would you punish your 
child because, in the guilelessness of childhood, she 
spoke only the truth ? If you do, you will punish 
her for that which arose from a fault of your own. 
Punish her now, as you say you intend to; give 
her a lesson ‘ she will never forget f it is likely she 
will not. Child as she is, she cannot discriminate, 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


341 


and she will remember how to conceal truth and 
act or speak falsehood, as it may be expedient, 
without regard to the approval of Him who ^ keep- 
eth truth for ever.^ Remember, it is for you to 
write upon the yet unsullied tablet of your child’s 
heart; and be careful how you sulfer an ineffaceable 
blot to be made upon it, rather than stamp it with 
the impress of those precepts which teach that the 
Mip of truth shall be established for ever, but a 
lying tongue is an abomination to the Lord, while 
they that deal truly are his delight.’ ” 

Mrs. Ainslie listened respectfully, for there is a 
dignity about religion that the most worldly are 
obliged to acknowledge; but, although she did not 
punish Grace as she threatened, she was deter¬ 
mined to let her frierids know what she thought of 
them. She had, however, not much time to think 
about the matter; for the first time sickness came 
into the house, and Mrs. Ainslie’s anxiety Avas fully 
awakened. Anne, the new servant, was mostly 
allowed to take the children out in the evenings, 
instead of Margaret, who had for some time sus¬ 
pected that she took the younger children with her 
to visit her friends, and that she bribed Philip and 
Grace, with presents of candy, not to tell. Louisa 
would not have concealed the truth, but she did 


342 


MARGARET GORDON, 


not often go out with Anne, whom she did not 
like; and when she was with them they were 
never taken farther than the squares. 

A day or two after the party, Anne entered the 
nursery with the beautiful purple flowers, pre¬ 
viously mentioned as adorning Mrs. Ainslie’s cap, 
in her hand. 

You are to put these flowers in the box with 
the others,’’ she said, addressing Margaret—^^the 
box which is on the high shelf of the nursery 
closet. The cap was left on the table in the dress¬ 
ing-room, and I found it lying on the floor nearly 
torn to pieces, so the flowers had to be taken out. 
Mrs. Ainslie is a good deal vexed about it, and 
one of her elegant sleeve-buttons, which she wore 
on the night of the party, cannot be found. I 
have searched everywhere, and she bade me tell 
you to look if she had not dropped it in the nur¬ 
sery.” 

The flowers were put away as directed; the chil¬ 
dren were sent out with Anne. During their ab¬ 
sence the nursery was swept and examined, but no 
sleeve-button was found. When they returned 
from their walk, which was much sooner than 
usual, little Juliet was restless and fretful, and, as 
she had seemed drooping ever since the party, 


OB CAN I FORGIVEf 


343 


Margaret began to feel anxious, although she 
scarcely knew what she apprehended, and told her 
fears to Mrs. Ainslie, who was not alarmed. 

Children of her age are often fretful and peev¬ 
ish,’’ she said, and I do not see any cause for un¬ 
easiness.” 

But on the next day the symptoms of illness 
became more apparent; a red flush was spread all 
over her face and her little hands were hot and 
dry. The unconscious eyes and burning head and 
drooping limbs convinced the now alarmed mother 
that Margaret’s fears were well founded, and that 
it was something more than an ordinary ailment; 
and she hurried anxiously to consult a friendly 
neighbour, whose more practiced experience would 
be better able to estimate the cause for alarm. 

It was soon found to be serious enougli—the 
child was really ill. Dr. Harrison was hastily 
summoned and pronounced a verdict of scarlet 
fever, and Mrs. Ainslie was overwhelmed with 
despair. She had the greatest horror of the dis¬ 
ease, and would not listen to a word of comfort or 
hope, or believe that her child would ever recover. 
The whole household was in distress, and, by way 
of crowning the trouble, Mrs. Ainslie, having 
found out through Grace that Anne had taken 


344 


MARGARET GORDON, 


them to a house where they saw sick children, was 
highly indignant, and, without considering or 
caring that heT services were at this time indispen¬ 
sable, or the difficulty of finding a suitable person 
in her place, dismissed her on the spot. The dis¬ 
ease developed rapidly in a most alarming form, 
and in spite of every precaution the other chil¬ 
dren were attacked also. It was some time before 
a nurse could be obtained ; most of the few who 
were willing to serve in such circumstances were 
incompetent and found to be hindrances rather 
than helps. They were sent off as summarily as 
Anne had been. 

Mrs. Ainslie, who had seen but little of sickness 
and was very inefficient as a nurse, was nearly broken 
down under this accumulation of misfortune. Not 
one of her fashionable friends came near her, for 
they were afraid of the fever; and had it not been 
for the good nursing of Mrs. Preston and Margaret, 
the children would have fared badly. The latter 
forgot that she was so much out of health herself; 
her mind was so full of anxious care for the little 
sufferers that self was lost sight of, and she watched 
beside them day and night without seeming to feel 
fatigue or pain. No one seemed to possess the 
same power to soothe the moaning children; she 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


345 


had a thousand little arts and devices to cheat 
them of their pain, and no one else was able to per¬ 
suade them to submit to the doctor’s rules, or coax 
them to swallow the bitter medicines he prescribed. 
Hour after hour she walked the room with one or 
other of the two least in her arms or rocked them 
on her lap, singing in low, murmuring tones to the 
two elder ones, which lulled them into quiet when 
all else had failed. With the most watchful and 
unwearied patience, she exercised all the arduous 
duties required in a sick-room, so that even Mrs. 
Ainslie yielded her approbation, and for the time 
showed such an appreciation of her services as 
made her heart swell and her eyes fill with tears 
of gratitude to God, through whose goodness she 
had been qualified for the responsible task. Dr. 
Harrison, too, a man of piety and benevolence, 
who had attended the Gordons in all their sick¬ 
ness, often expressed his satisfaction at the manner 
in which she performed her fatiguing duties, and 
would say to Mrs. Ainslie, I think I shall have 
to take Margaret from you and engage her to nurse 
my patients.” 

With these well-merited praises from those who 
had witnessed her perseverance in the discharge of 
duty, it was not wonderful that she felt ligliter- 


346 MARGARET GORDON, 

hearted than she had been since she had left her 
home for Mrs. Ainslie’s service. Her present hap¬ 
piness, however, was not the result of self-compla¬ 
cence, but proceeded from a hope that by a faithful 
fulfilment of her obligations to her employers she 
had won their affection and confidence. She trusted 
that whilst serving those who were fellow-creatures 
she had also served God, from whom, as doing 
all service heartily as unto him and not unto man, 
she should receive the reward promised to those 
who do their duty, not as meii-pleasers, but in sin¬ 
gleness of heart, fearing God. She recalled all 
that her father had said about God’s allotment of 
our duties and stations, and realized that it was by 
no mere accident or chance, but by his all-wise 
providence, that she filled the place of a servant, 
and was thankful that he had given her faculties 
to fulfil its various duties. She felt that, in her 
late exhausting efforts, she had performed her re¬ 
quired duties in a right sj)irit, and trusted that she 
had his approbation—the highest reward that any 
one can hope for. Her station was lowly, but her 
conduct was of importance. He who watched the 
monarch on his throne watched her also in her 
humble duties; and whilst she thought of the 
mercy which had all along been vouchsafed to her, 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


347 


and told all her griefs and trials to him whom she 
so long ago had been taught to love and trust, the 
heaviness of her heart changed into calm rest, and 
she enjoyed seasons of that sweet, holy and un¬ 
speakable peace which the world can neither give 
nor take away. 

It was not until the appearance of symptoms 
which confirmed the doctor’s verdict, that the fever 
was abating and the danger past, that she felt how 
much exhausted she was, and resolved to go home 
as soon as she could with propriety leave her post. 
The children grew better slowly, but surely; and, 
as fears for their safety subsided, the household fell 
back into the old social habits which had for a 
time been interrupted. Visitors came and went as 
usual; Mrs. Ainslie renewed her rides and drives 
and frivolities; the evenings were mirthful again, 
with music and pleasant company; and, with her 
return to the old habits, the lately appreciated ser¬ 
vices of Margaret were forgotten. Her former sel¬ 
fishness took the place of her recent gratitude, and 
she exhibited only another proof of how little to be 
depended upon is the favour of those whose hearts 
are given up to the world. Notwithstanding the 
gradual recovery of the children, and consequent 
lessening of anxiety on that account, Margaret’s 


348 MARGARET GORDON, . 

duties were still too arduous for the state of her 
health, and she had more than once told Mrs. 
Ainslie that she must go home and rest for a while. 
The answer to this proposal was, that she did not 
know how to spare her at this time/^ accompanied 
by an entreaty that she would not go until some 
one could be found to fill her place; and Louisa 
was so weak and languid and loved Margaret so 
much, she surely would not go until she was 
better, the poor child would fret so ? 

INfargaret had become attached to the children, 
and notwithstanding the great need she felt she had 
of rest, was reluctant to leave, and suffered herself 
to be persuaded to stay. Louisa had suffered 
greatly from the disease, and as it reached its crisis 
there was little hope that she would survive. At 
last, however, she arose from her sick bed, and 
gradually regained power to move and walk about. 
Mrs. Ainslie now thought all danger was over, and 
returned to her frivolities and pleasures, quite easy 
about the convalescing children, and satisfied that 
Margaret would not neglect them. But she did 
not notice, as the faithful nurse did, that while Dr. 
Harrison encouraged her respecting the speedy re¬ 
storation of the three younger children, he still 
looked grave and shook his head when he asked 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


349 


about Louisa and examined her pulse. Margaret 
felt sad as she witnessed the doctor’s discouraging 
manner, for the gentle little girl had won much 
upon her affections; perhaps the interest was deep¬ 
ened by an impression she had always had that 
her life was likely to be one of suffering, if not a 
short one. Often, before she was taken sick, she 
would draw her little chair to Margaret’s side and 
beg her to read or sing to her, and tell her about 
her uncle Preston, who died; how much she had 
loved him; how he had taught her to say Our 
Father” and other prayers, and would tell her 
about heaven and all the bright and happy beings 
who lived there; and then Margaret would read 
her stories from the Bible, and tell her of the 
greatness and goodness of God, and of the blessed 
Saviour, wdio left his home in heaven and came 
upon the earth to suffer and to die, that sinners 
should be saved from the punishment due to all 
the children of Adam. 

As Louisa recovered gradually from her sick¬ 
ness, during which she had thought a great deal, 
she took more pleasure in these conversations re¬ 
lating to heavenly things even than before. She 
seemed to love particularly to hear about dying 
and going to heaven; and the humble nurse, 


350 


MARGARET GORDON, 


from the home-teaching of her pious parents, was 
able to fulfil a missionary function, and teach the 
interesting child the things of most importance for 
human beings to know. She told her of heaven, 
the home where the Saviour dwelt, brighter than 
the sun, more vast and more glorious than the 
broad blue sea,” where no sound of sorrow was 
ever heard, where no feeling of pain was ever en¬ 
dured. Millions of angels knelt before his throne 
and worshipped him for his unspeakable greatness, 
and not one among them had ever known a 
thought of sin. In that home there was room for 
us, but only on one condition—if we come to God 
believing on him who died that we might inherit 
heaven. 

Well: but, Margaret, could not we go to 
heaven at all if our Saviour had not died for us ?” 
asked Louisa, one day, when they were conversing 
on these spiritual things. 

^•No, Miss Louisa,” was the reply; ^Gve certainly 
should not. It is only because he suffered and died 
as he did to save us from the curse brought on us 
by the sin of our first parents that we have any 
title to the happiness of a better world. And how 
often do you think of what he has done for you and 
love him for it ?” 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 351 

Louisa did not immediately answer, but after a 
short pause she said : 

It is very hard always to be good; it would be 
so much easier if we could see the Saviour. But, 
Maggie, did he really leave heaven and come to 
earth to die?’^ 

Yes,’’w^as the answer; he came upon earth, 
which, even in its greatest beauty, was to him but 
a land of darkness, and lived in poverty and shame 
among the sinners he came to save, and loved those 
who persecuted him. And when he had taught 
them all that it was good for them to know, and 
healed their diseases, and helped them in their diffi¬ 
culties, he gave himself up to a death of agony to 
save them, and all who believe and trust in him, 
from punishment.” 

I should like to be very good, Maggie,” said 
Louisa, but I think it is very hard to be always 
good. And then I am so young; mamma always 
says that Grace will be good when she grows older, 
and I think it will grow easier for me by and by.” 

I hope so,” said Margaret; but no one grows 
good or merits heaven without help from above, 
and there is nothing but prayer for God’s assisting 
grace that can keep us safe from sin. Yx)u are not 
too young to sin; neither are you too young to 


352 


MARGARET GORDON, 


pray; and if you pray and try with your whole 
strength, God will give you his Holy Spirit and 
make you a child of grace/^ 

Thus was the humble nursery-maid made an in¬ 
strument for the edification of some of those among 
whom she lived. She found, as Mr. Upton had 
told her, that she could do her Master’s work in 
whatever situation she was called to, and, carrying 
the missionary spirit into the nursery of the rich, 
she sowed the seeds of truth which in time brought 
forth even to sixty and a hundred-fold. These 
gospel teachings created a strong bond of love be¬ 
tween the child of wealth and the humble nurse¬ 
maid. A tie was formed between them of whose 
strength the latter was not conscious hitherto; but 
now that the idea of suffering and danger, so plainly 
prognosticated by Dr. Harrison’s looks and manner, 
was presented to her mind, she did not so strenu¬ 
ously insist on being dismissed as she would other¬ 
wise have done, and, forgetful of her own failing 
health, resolved to remain near Louisa as long as 
she possibly could. She, however, overrated her 
strength. She did not improve, although buoyed 
up by the strongest motive—disregard of self in 
the discharge of high duty—a lesson she had 
been learning to practice throughout her life. But 


OR CAN I FOBGIVEf 


353 


a separation came sonner and continued longer 
than she expected; a sadder and sterner experience 
to be passed through before a complete victory could 
be gained and a complete triumph over self achieved. 
One evening, as she sat beside the baby’s cradle, 
she was seized with a sudden faintness, and would 
have fallen but for the aid of the assistant nurse. 
Mrs. Ainslie, who was in the nursery at the time, 
was much alarmed for a few minutes, but as the 
faintness passed off her alarm subsided, and she 
thought no more about it until the next morning, 
when she met Dr. Harrison coming from the nur¬ 
sery, where he had made a visit. 

You will have another‘patient in a few days,” 
said he; '^your nursery-girl is far from being well, 
and just in a fit state to take a fever. She has 
great need of rest just now, and as she wishes to go 
home for a while, you had better let her go at 
once.” 

The idea of having another fever patient in the 
house was most terrifying to Mrs. Ainslie, and 
fright effected what entreaty and consideration 
failed to do. She went at once to the nursery, and 
in a tone of coldness, seeming almost like one of 
displeasure at the poor girl for daring to be sick 
and thus obliging her to dispense with her services, 

23 


354 


MARGARET GORDON, 


she gave her a hasty dismissal, although she had 
no one engaged to fill her place. Her short-lived 
gratitude for the devoted attention shown in the 
children’s late sickness, and which the doctor said 
had»done as much for them as medicine, had 
already been forgotten, and Mrs. Ainslie, as she 
noticed her nursery-maid’s pale face and drooping 
form, was as anxious to hasten her departure as 
she had been a day or two previous reluctant to 
part with her. 

Selfish people may be very soft-hearted, and 
when Mrs. Ainslie saw Margaret’s devotion in the 
sick room of her children, and how she bore with 
all their peevishness and contradictions, working 
beyond her strength to humour their fancies or 
soothe their sutferings, she said—and was sincere at 
the time—that she would never forget the service 
she had rendered, and that Margaret had a lasting 
claim on her for gratitude. But she was also one 
of those persons who expect to receive all, but do 
not care to give anything in return. Every one 
around her was to do everything for her especial 
comfort, but she never thought of herself putting 
aside personal inclinations for the duty of making 
others happy. As we have already said, unless 
much provoked, she never used harsh language 


OB CAN I FOBGIVEf 


355 


to her servants, and provided even kindly for their 
personal wants: she did it from pride and because 
she loved the praise of men; and whilst she ex¬ 
acted the utmost amount of labour in return, 
thought they had no right to complain of the ab¬ 
sence of that sympathy which, as children of one 
great family, each human being owes to the 
other, let his rank be what it may. Servants, 
working for daily wages, were only menials, infe¬ 
riors ; she cared nothing for their future good or 
happiness. Living for a select, exclusive circle, 
and viewing everything through a worldly me¬ 
dium, the large circle of the Christian Church, em¬ 
bracing within itself all orders and all ranks, and 
giving to each class and each individual in that 
class a work, without which the happiness of the 
whole could not be complete, was as much unreal 
to her as were the myths of the ancient historical 
records. 

She knew nothing of the higher blessedness be¬ 
stowed by the teachings of Christianity, which bid 
us not to despise those to whom God has assigned 
more humble positions than ourselves, knowing 
who it is that hath made us to differ.^' And there 
are many like her, who, in the pride of wealth and 
arrogant superiority, care not for, nor seem to have 


356 


MARGARET GORDON, 


an idea of, tlie relative duties incumbent on every 
class, but complain of their servants for evincing 
so little interest in the household atfairs of those 
with whom they live. But sympathy, in the small 
details of every-day life, insensibly reaches and tells 
on every heart, and is the real source of influence; 
alms may be given to the poor and high wages to 
the hireling without finding the wished-for result 
of aflection and gratitude until the heart is reached. 

Man does not live by bread alone,’’ is a sentence 
which has a meaning even short of its spiritual 
sense; there is a germ of feeling in every human 
breast, which springs into existence in the sun¬ 
shine of another’s sympathy—a flower Avhich God 
has planted, and which may be found blossoming 
in the midst of apparent barrenness, like the Al¬ 
pine rose in the depths of the glaciers.” Being 
one of the number who have never learned that 
the poor can feel, it is not to be wondered at 
that Mrs. Ainslie consented to Margaret’s leaving 
her service in the manner of one feeling herself 
much injured; for, knowing well that her place 
could not be easily filled, was not her domestic 
comfort to be sacrificed by the change? And yet 
she was anxious to be rid of her; she wanted no 
sick people in the house. In her present irritated 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


357 


mood, which had taken the place of her short-lived 
gratitude, although she could not help seeing how 
really ill her faithful nursery-girl was, she sutfered 
her to walk home, carrying her bundle, although 
she had more than one carriage at her command. 
Poor Mrs. Ainslie! there are many like her, who, 
forgetful of the higher nature that is within them, 
live only for the world. But God is ever merciful, 
although chastening in his love and often severe in 
his dispensations for good. The flinty heart was 
yet to be struck; the selfishness in which it was 
encased, caused by too much prosperity, was yet to 
be removed, and the healing waters were to flow 
with a soft and tender influence; but it was to be at 
the call of sorrow and the stroke of death. 





'‘..fS. 

uy 

CHAPTER XVIII. . ^ 

HOME AGAIN, AND AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE. 

IME is certainly not to be measured by days 
and hours, at least if we consult our own sen¬ 
sations ; for, although to Margaret and per¬ 
haps to the other watchers in the sick room, it had 
seemed an age sinee the party had come off, which 
was in late summer, it was yet early in autumn 
when she received her ungracious release from Mrs. 
Ainslie’s service. It was on a brilliant morning, 
with a bright sun clouded just enough for beauty, 
that, with a small bundle in her hand, she took her 
de}>arture from the luxurious home, where she had 
learned some painful experience, and commenced 
her long walk toward her mother’s humble cottage.. 
A new nursery maid had been engaged, with whom 
Mrs. Ainslie believed she would be quite as well 
served as she had been by Margaret, and she had 

therefore directed that, as it was her intention to set 

% 

out at an early hour, the leave-taking should be on 

the evening before. But the faithful and Christian 
35S 



04 ^ I FORGIVE? 


359 


servant could not leave her little charges with 
quite as much indifference as the fashionable 
mother supposed. Tliey had, by the blessing of 
God, improved much under her care. She had 
taught them to love and fear God and how to pray, 
and, in the true interest inspired by her own loving 
faith, she feared that the seed she had so carefully 
and unremittingly sown sliould, for lack of proper 
care, perish and come to naught, instead of the 
sixty-fold increase for which she hoped. Mrs. 
Ainslie, dissatisfied because of her being obliged to 
leave, which disturbed her indolent ease, had not 
asked her to return, and when she had kissed the 
children good-bye’^ and turned away from the 
nursery, she did not know whether she might hope 
ever to see them again. Many thoughts concern¬ 
ing them and all she had experienced since she 
had exchanged her humble home for this lofty 
mansion took possession of her mind and made her 
restless. Sleep would not visit her pillow until at 
so late an hour that she did not awake at her usual 
time, and her departure was in consequence much 
delayed. She, however, after partaking of a morn¬ 
ing meal with Hannah, the cook, and taking a 
friendly leave of her and the other servants, set out 
through the back gate and down the lane that ran 


360 


MARGARET GORDON, 


along the garden wall to the high road, from which 
it was separated by a stile. Having reached this, 
she, to her great surprise, saw the three elder chil¬ 
dren issue from the lower gate of the garden. 
Bounding over the stile, they clung affectionately 
to her, as if unwilling to part. 

Why, Miss Louisa,” said Margaret, how did 
you find out that I had not gone an hour ago, as I 
intended ? Surely your mamma does not know of 
this. She would not approve of your coming down 
the lane alone.” 

Louisa did not speak, but Grace answered with¬ 
out hesitation : 

I saw Hannah, and she told us you had just 
gone. We did not ask mamma, for we knew she 
would not let us come to see you on your road, and 
she don’t know that you did not leave long ago. 
But we were allowed by the new nurse to play in 
the garden, for the doctor says the open air will do 
us good, and so we ran round the back way, and 
have just come of our own selves.” 

You should not have done so. Miss Gracie,” 
said Margaret, caressing the child, who was twining 
her little arms so lovingly around her; you must 
never do anything you know your mamma would 
not approve of, even if she did not forbid it. Dear 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


361 


Miss Louisa, won’t you try and remember that 
when you do things that you know she would not 
like, and without her knowledge you break the 
fifth commandment, which says, ^ Honour thy 
father and thy mother,’ you also disobey God and 
oifend him by breaking his law? But now, dar¬ 
lings, run home like good children, and tell your 
mother that you came to the stile to say ^ good¬ 
bye’ to me once more; and,” she continued, as she 
caressed them most affectionately, I’ll maybe 
come back to see you if your mamma will allow 
me.” 

Oh, I am sure she will,” said Louisa, clinging 
to her fondly; and you must come back and live 
with us again, for I know mamma will want you, 
for I often have heard her tell papa and Aunt 
Fanny that she did not know what she would do 
in the nursery if you were to leave us.” 

. Don’t go away, Maggie,” said Philip; ^H’ll be 
afraid of Indian Peter again if you won’t stay with 
us.” 

^^You must not be afraid of anything, Philip, 
but of doing wrong by disobeying your parents and 
offending God, who, if you pray to him with your 
whole heart, will not suffer anything to harm 
you.” 


362 


MARGARET GORDON, 


yes, Maggie,’’ said Grace, ‘Mo come back. 

I do not think I will like onr new nurse at all; she 
speaks so sharp, and ain’t a bit like you.” 

“ You must try to like her. Miss Gracie, for it is 
your duty to do so; and now, darlings, good-bye, 
and be sure never to come away again without ask- 
ing your mother’s leave.” 

They turned sorrowfully away, and Margaret 
stood by the stile and watched them until they dis¬ 
appeared behind the garden gate. Tears flowed 
down her cheeks as she thought that perhaps she 
should never see them again, or at least that the 
l)ond which had united them was now severed, never 
to be knit again; and although she rejoiced at the 
prospect of speedily being with the loved ones at 
home, it could*not relieve the sadness she felt at part¬ 
ing with them. She thought over her many experi¬ 
ences since she left her cottage home for one in the 
dwelling of the rich; and as she recalled the mem¬ 
ory of the conversation with her father, which we 
have already related, on the subject of riches—riches 
which she then so ardently desired, believing them 
to have the ability to bestow happiness on their 
possessor—she also remembered how on that occa¬ 
sion he had said, in the beautiful language of Scrip¬ 
ture, that “ a man’s life consisteth not in the abun- 


OB CAN I FORGIVEf 


363 


dance of the things which he possesseth and all her 
varied experiences there had verified the scriptural 
assertion which says, How hardly shall they that 
have riches enter into the kingdom of God \’^ She 
wept bitterly—not because the change would be 
great between her rough country life, which she 
must once more resume, and the more refined but 
not less laborious employment at Mrs. Ainslie’s, but 
from the thought of how much she would miss the 
caresses and companionship of those little ones 
whom, for so many, many months, she had in her 
own humble way been endeavouring to train for 
heaven. She did not know how inexpressibly dear 
her young charges had become to her until now 
when she was about to part with them. Thrown 
entirely upon her care in their late dangerous ill¬ 
ness, they had awakened the warmest sympathies 
of her nature, but her greatest interest in them pro¬ 
ceeded from the marked improvement which charac¬ 
terized their whole behaviour since her first coming 
among them. Philip, instead of being rude and 
noisy, was docile and gentle, and Grace, though 
still .wild and mischievous, had become more truth¬ 
ful ; but it was Louisa who gave the best promise 
that her humble teachings had not been without 
effect. She had found the trail of her duties,’’ as 


364 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Mr. Upton had told her to do, and, following it in 
a missionary spirit, she put her whole heart into the 
work—not for the sake of the work, but of Him who 
gave it to her to do; and having done the service 
in this spirit, she trusted that he who scans the 
inner motive rather than the outer action had no¬ 
ticed and blessed the effort, although it was made 
by a humble and feeble hand. She had had many 
trials in that service, but it is by trial in the fire 
that gold is proved; and her memory travelled 
readily back to them, and she recalled the many 
steps by which she had reached the point of life 
where she now stood. Her life at Mrs. Ainslie’s 
had not been a very happy one, but it had been 
good for her, for she had learned many lessons 
there—lessons which, remembered through life, 
would elevate her mind in sorrow and sober it in 
joy, and she thankfully acknowledged that the 
discipline had been good for her; and she did not 
allow herself to wish one trial altered or think it 
better that there should have been one trouble less, 
for are not man^s light afflictions, which, as the 
apostle tells us, endure but for a moment,’’ in¬ 
tended by the wise Dispenser of joy and sorrow 
to work out an eternal weight of glory for those 
whom he loves ? She had learned to estimate riches 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


3G5 


at their true value, and therefore did not desire 
their possession, as she had formerly done almost to 
covetousness. She had better learned how to dis¬ 
tinguish truth from error—how to bear unmerited 
reproach in silence, following the example of One 
who, when reviled, reviled not again; and in the 
annoyances of her daily life had learned patience 
and acquired a spirit of gentleness and submission, 
which, as we have before said, formed no part of 
her natural character. 

The morning was bright and beautiful, uniting 
the warmth of summer with the freshness of au¬ 
tumn, making the mere sensation of being in the 
open air enjoyable. How pleasant was the walk 
between the still verdant and well-filled fence-rows 
that bordered the road on each side! The change 
from the confined air of the nursery to that of the 
pure breeze wafted from the mountains, the bright, 
clear sky, the sight of healthy, happy faces and the 
sounds of active, busy life, were all invigorating, 
and it would have been strange if our poor servant- 
girl, always so fond of country life, should have 
been insensible to its influence now. There was a 
charm in the landscape, clothed in its autumn rich¬ 
ness, in its fertility, its air of wealth and peace—a 
charm in the splendour of the varied tints of red 


3G6 


MABGARET GORDON, 


and green and purple and gold of the many- 
coloured fields and woodlands, all speaking the 
power and goodness of the Creator, and showing 
forth the littleness of man and his works in com¬ 
parison with the vastness and grandeur of I^ature. 

But although Margaret breathed more freely, she 
did not enjoy her walk as much as formerly; her 
spirits w'ere depressed, she had a dreadful headache, 
which she attributed to her want of sleep on the 
previous night, and, with a sense of lassitude here¬ 
tofore unknown, felt herself to be seriously unwell, 
and feared that she would not be able to reach 
home. But putting forth all her energies, she suc¬ 
ceeded, and surprised them all there, not only with 
her unexpected arrival, but with her altered looks, 
for which they were not at all prepared. They 
greeted her with joyful words, but she did not ap¬ 
pear to hear them. A band of iron seemed to en¬ 
circle her head, her thoughts wandered, and every¬ 
thing grew dark before her. She was, however, 
not altogether unconscious, for she was aware of the 
voices of the loved ones who surrounded her, and, 
yielding to a sense of security when she found her¬ 
self placed on her mother’s bed, she experienced, 
amid unutterable exhaustion, a glow of grateful 
joy. A pleasant stupor began to steal over her; 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


367 


and, thanking God that she was at home, she fell 
into a sound sleep. 

Although she was not able to rise for several 
days, her sickness was not a dangerous one, pro¬ 
ceeding more from the exhaustion consequent on 
her overtaxed strength than real disease. Perfect 
quiet, recommended by Dr. Harrison, was the only 
medicine she needed. Lying there at rest, on an 
uncurtained bed, very different from the one she 
had occupied in Mrs. Ainslie’s nursery, feeling that 
she was watched over and cared for, a sense of deep 
peace came over her. Too weary and too weak to 
think of either the past or the future, and sensible 
only of the safe and blessed present, and the good¬ 
ness of God, who had given her a peaceful home, 
she gave herself up to the full enjoyment of an in¬ 
terval of that languid repose which, in such cases, 
exhausted Nature demands for herself. 

Margaret’s restoration was gradual but very 
slow. Some weeks passed—during which time she 
had heard nothing of Mrs. Ainslie, who had never 
sent to inquire whether she was sick or not—before 
she was able to take an active part in the household 
duties. She remained weak and pale, but was anx¬ 
ious to resume her service again, for the debt was 
not yet all paid, and that very anxiety aided in re- 


368 


MARGARET GORDON, 


tarding her recovery. Notwithstanding she had had 
much to complain of in her life at Mrs. Aiuslie’s, 
she would have preferred returning to her rather 
than entering into the service of another family 
where all were strangers. She had become attached 
to the children, and missed their companionship, 
although when with them she had often found them 
very unruly and trying to her patience. But she 
did not know whether Mrs. Ainslie wanted her or 
not, and could not help feeling hurt at the indiffer¬ 
ence she had manifested, when she could have so 
easily sent to ask after her; knowing, as she did, 
that loss of health, from over-exertion in her ser¬ 
vice was the occasion of her leaving. But there 
was no need to decide hastily; she was still far 
from having recovered her usual state of health, 
and her mother was unwilling she should go uatil 
she was stronger. Whilst she was thus hesitating 
as to what was or was not duty, they were all 
greatly surprised by a visit from Mrs. Maxwell, 
who was once more living in Philadelphia, and 
whom they had not seen for a long time. She 
was troubled to see Margaret so changed in looks 
from the time she had seen her last; feared she 
was going into a consumption, and at the close of 
her visit insisted on taking her home with her. 


OR CAN I FORGlVRf 


369 


It shall cost you nothing, Alice,” she said ; I 
will pay all expenses, and will be glad to have her 
on a long visit. I am often lonely since my daugh¬ 
ter is married. She needs recreation ; so you must 
not refuse.” 

After some hesitation the proposal was accepted. 
Margaret had never been to Philadelphia. Change 
of air and the novelty and variety of city life could 
not fail to be beneficial; and besides she need not 
regret the loss of time, since her health was by no 
means so far restored as to render it prudent for 
her to seek another service. She accordingly ac¬ 
companied Mrs. Maxwell to her city home, and, 
although there were no young people there—for 
her aunt’s children were all settled in homes of 
their own—she found all she wanted in the com- 
])any of her uncle and aunt, who, equally pleased 
with her, wished that she would remain with them 
altogether. The offer was a tempting one. Mr. 
Maxwell was in good business, and she would live 
an easier life than she had ever yet known; but 
the claims of duty were imperative. She believed 
that at this time her efforts ought to be devoted to 
the interests of her family, and she felt that she 
must not neglect the performance of positive duty 
for that of a possible one; and, with a mind en- 
24 


370 


MARGARET GORDON, 


lightened and enlarged beyond her years by true 
religion, she was enabled to discern what was riglit 
in this case and sacrifice self at the shrine of duty. 
She therefore resolutely withstood the tempting 
'* otfer, but consented to remain for a time, or until 
her health was so far re-established as to admit of 
her once more seeking employment. 

A few days after her arrival in Philadelphia her 
aunt proposed that they should together visit her 
daughter, who lived some miles distant in the 
country. 

We need not send any word,’^ she said ; we 
can go in the public conveyance until quite near 
the place, and walk across the fields, which is a 
shorter way than going by the road.’^ 

The morning Avas bright and pleasant when they 
set out, but the sky became overcast and lowering 
long before they reached the place where they 
were to leave the coach. Soon after they alighted 
^ome raindrops began to fall, which increased to 
a heavy shower before they left the fields and 
reached the lane which led to the house, into Avhich, 
being unprovided with umbrellas, they entered in a 
dripping state. They received a hearty welcome 
from the surprised inmates of the farm-house, and 
they were soon made comfortable; but after their 


OR CJiV I FORGIVEf 


371 


raln-soakcd garments liad been carefully dried and 
otherwise attended to, it was found that Margaret’s 
bonnet was so much spoiled that it was doubtful if 
it could ever he restored to a state of decency. 

James Gordon had never approved of the prac¬ 
tice of wearing mourning; therefore none of the 
family except the mother had ever changed their 
style of dress, which had always been scrupulously 
plain. Margaret’s bonnet was a white straw trim¬ 
med with a green riband, which, soaked by the 
rain, had liberally distributed its colour in many 
stains, which it was doubtful it would be possible 
ever to remove. It was, however, dried and fitted 
up, by the help of a veil, so that she could wear it 
home. Mrs. Maxwell sustained no injury from 
the wetting, but Margaret, less robust from her late 
confined life, had taken a severe cold, which con¬ 
fined her to the house for several days, so that, 
when her aunt went out to see if the bonnet could 
be restored and the stains removed, she could not 
accompany her. She was troubled at the thoughts 
of the expense, perhaps, of getting a new one. 
The loss of time, and being obliged to consult a 
physician on the state of her health, would much 
retard the accomplishment of the end she had in 
view—namely, the payment of the debt; and she 


^12 


MARGARET GORDON, 


was sad as her alarmed and morbid fancy painted 
the probability that after all they might have to 
give up the cottage. After a short absence, Mrs. 
Maxwell returned, bringing with her the stained 
bonnet. 

I went to several places,’’ said she, and every 
one I spoke to declared that nothing could be done 
with it. The green stains could not be taken out. 
But I have bought a new bonnet for you, and hope 
you will wear it. It is a present from your uncle; 
and although it is a little—only a very little— 
gayer than the spoiled one you have been wearing, 
you must not object, for he says you dress too 
plainly for a young girl, and I have selected one 
that I know will please his taste.” 

The bonnet came, and Margaret could not help 
expressing her admiration of it, but at the same 
time she feared that it was too gay for her to wear. 
Her father had often told his children tliat they 
ought always to dress according to their station 
and means, and although he was no longer on earth 
to object or to censure, she held all his well-remem¬ 
bered opinions in great reverence. 

The new bonnet was made of white straw, and 
trimmed with a beautiful purple riband and a 
bunch of artificial flowers, a white rose and purple 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


373 


campanulas, somewhat resembling those which Mrs. 
Ainslie had worn in her head-dress and prized so 
much; but, made of far less costly material, they 
were greatly lower in price. Margaret, althoiigli 
she could not help admiring the bonnet, which was 
simple and in such good taste that she could not 
object, would have preferred it without the flowers. 
She loved flowers dearly, and was not opposed to 
seeing them worn by others, but somehow she 
thought them unsuitable to one in her station. 
Mrs. Maxwell read her scruples in her face, and 
said, perhaps a little impatiently, that she was in 
Philadelphia now, where all young people dressed 
more than those who lived in the country. She 
yielded to the views of her aunt, who, besides the 
bonnet, had made her many other presents, thanked 
her warmly for her kindness, and wore the flowers 
in order to please her, intending, however, to take 
them out of her bonnet as soon as she was at home. 

Thus kindly treated by her relatives, and feel¬ 
ing that health was returning, she spent her 
time in peace and contentment until, in a letter 
received from her mother, she learned that Mrs. 
Ainslie had been more than once at the cottage and 
Avishcd to have her return to her service. Sfie 
then began to consider the propriety of going home, 


374 


MARGARET GORDON, 


and at once prepared to do so, although every in¬ 
ducement was offered for her to stay. 

But while Margaret was thus peacefully passing 
her time with her kind friends, things had not 
gone on altogether smoothly in the Ainslie family. 
The children did not like the nursery-servant who 
succeeded Margaret, and quarrelled with her con¬ 
tinually. Although for the first week she had 
pleased Mrs. Ainslie so well that she told her 
friends that she thought her quite as good a servant 
as Margaret, she soon found that she was careless 
and unprincipled, and therefore dismissed her, as 
was her custom, without a recommendation. Seve¬ 
ral others succeeded, but Mrs. Ainslie was not 
satisfied with any. Some were good in some 
things, but none, she was obliged to acknowledge, 
were so efficient as Margaret, about whom the 
children were constantly inquiring, and begging, 
particularly Louisa, that she might come back; so 
that she at last visited the Gordon’s cottage, and, 
to her great surprise and regret, learned of her 
absence. 

The depredations in the Ainslie family, before 
spoken of, still continued, but not to the same ex¬ 
tent as formerly. Mrs. Ainslie had become more 
careful of her jewelry and locked it up; and as no 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


375 


valuable articles liad been missed lately, and the 
petty thefts were mostly confined to abstractions 
from the work-baskets and the play-room, she was 
too indolent to trouble herself to care about them. 
On one occasion, however, she suffered herself to 
become very angry, on account of a loss which was 
comparatively a trifling one. She was to go to a 
l)arty, and in considering what style of head-dress 
she should wear, she thought of the beautiful pur¬ 
ple and white flowers she had worn with so much 
pleasure in the earlier part of the season, and which 
she recollected had been ripped from her torn head¬ 
dress and been given to Anne to hand over to Mar¬ 
garet. But on examining the box in the nursery 
closet, where Margaret was directed to put them, 
they were not only not there, but several other 
bunches of the expensive artificial flowers which 
Mrs. Ainslie was in the habit of wearing were also 
missing. She cared little for the loss as far as re¬ 
garded the ex})ense, but she wanted that particular 
flower at that particular time; and, as she went to 
every pains to get another like it, without success, 
she suffered herself to be more worried about it 
than was at all habitual with her, and yielded to a 
display of temper never exhibited heretofore. She 
taxed her servants roundly for the lately-committed 


376 


MARGARET GORDON, 


thefts, and the consequence was, that they became 
offended and left, and placed Mrs. Ainslie in such 
a dilemma as she had never before been; she felt 
herself perplexed to the utmost. It was then that 
she thought of Margaret; she had, as we have be¬ 
fore stated, felt a kind of gratitude to her for the 
devotion with which she attended her sick children; 
but—with that selfishness which, like the sand of 
the desert, drinks up all and returns nothing, and 
is the characteristie of all such world-loving people 
as was Mrs. Ainslie—her short-lived feeling of ob¬ 
ligation to one who was only a servant and had 
been liberally paid,’’ soon vanished, and she per¬ 
mitted her to leave her house, suffering as she was, 
without manifesting any more interest in her wel¬ 
fare than if she had been the hireling of only a day. 
But now, troubled and perplexed, her thoughts re¬ 
verted to the late faithful nurse, and she had, there¬ 
fore, driven out more than once to the cottage in 
order to procure Margaret’s services once more. 

There were many consultations held between the 
family and friends after her return as to what was 
best for her to do. She was young, and had so far 
recovered her health that the probability was that 
she might live for years, and in the circumstances 
in which God had seen good to place her, she was 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


377 


appointed to labour—that was the appointed duty 
of man—to labour not only for herself, but for the 
good of her family, and also to glorify God in the 
performance of the work he had allotted her. She 
would have preferred a school to service; but the 
season had gone by for making application whilst 
she was in attendance upon the sick children, and 
although Squire Green’s relative—who had the 
school formerly taught by her father, and still kept 
it—had failed to give satisfaction, and most of the 
patrons would have been glad of exchange, his in¬ 
fluence was not to be gainsaid. 

They had not been able to decide on any settled 
course, when, one day, as Margaret sat at work 
altering the trimming of her bonnet, out of which 
she had taken the artificial flowers, she was startled 
by an exclamation from Mary, who, having finished 
making strong objections to the measure, had just 
advanced near the window. 

Mother, there is a carriage stopped down the 
road, and a lady and a little girl are coming up the 
walk. It is Mrs. Ainslie and little Miss Gracie 
and without waiting a moment, she ran to the door 
to admit the coming guests. 

Mrs. Ainslie entered with her usual easy and 
winning manner, and Grace, flying up to Margaret, 


378 


MARGARET GORDON, 


hung upon her neck and overwhelmed her with 
caresses while she whispered, We have come to 
take you back with us, Maggie; Louisa and all of 
us want you so badly; I am sure you will come/’ 
Margaret, delighted with the affection manifested 
by the child, gave herself up to the enjoyment of 
=the moment, forgetful of all past annoyances and 
cause of grievance, which, although hard to be 
borne at the time, were nevertheless long since 
freely forgiven. 

But alas ! how sudden are the revolutions in hu¬ 
man affairs ! The party were in the midst off an 
amicable and pleasant conversation, which no one 
knew better how to maintain than Mrs. Ainslie, 
when her eye happened to be caught by the purple 
flowers lying on the table beside the bonnet from 
Avhich they had been taken, and a remarkable change 
was at once observable in her manner. 

My lost flowers! I have found them at last!” 
she exclaimed, Avith deep emphasis and rising anger. 

How little did I expect to find them here! Mar¬ 
garet, what a hypocrite you have been ! pretending 
to so much goodness while you Avere so false at 
heart! Say not a single Avord—I Avill not listen— 
I see it all—I see it all; you have been the thief 
that lias so long escaped detection! there is the evi- 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


379 


deuce of it! You shall never enter my house again, 
neither will I stay another instant in yours 

So saying, the exasperated lady, taking Grace by 
the hand, hastily left the dwelling of the wonder- 
stricken inmates of the cottage before they could 
utter a word of inquiry or explanation. Margaret, 
as we have before said, although possessing much 
force of character, was nevertheless timid and mod¬ 
est, hut, accustomed to submit to Mrs. Ainslie for 
so long, although she tried to utter a few words 
of explanation, was unable to do so. The blood 
rushed to her face—her breathing became short and 
laboured. She was conscious that she had been 
called a thief and a hypocrite, and the words smote 
'l)ainfully upon her heart, although she had not the 
most remote idea of the cause that had called forth 
the hasty and insulting expressions. She turned 
her eyes inquiringly toward her mother, who, 
coming near to her, folded her in her arms and 
bade her be comforted. 

Mother, you don’t believe her; it’s not true— 
these never were Mrs. Ainslie’s flowers; it’s false— 
I am no thief.” 

My own Margaret,” said Alice, as she mingled 
her tears with those her daughter was now plenti¬ 
fully shedding, be comforted; I know you too 


380 


MARGARET GORDON, 


well to suspect you of dishonesty, even for a mo¬ 
ment, There is some great misunderstanding some¬ 
where, but all will come right at last, for God can 
bring light out of darkness and good out of seeming 
evil. We have often before been sorely afflicted, 
but can you forget that we have been always brought 
safely through the deep waters and led to praise 
him at last? Surely we can trust God now.^’ 

Yes, mother,” sobbed Margaret, but we have 
never had so great a trial as this. To be accused 
of theft—our good name taken away—only think 
what an injury it will be! I do not think I can 
ever forgive Mrs. Ainslie; and I was so willing to 
serve her, and I am sure I served her faithfully 
and her tears burst forth afresh. 

“ Do you not remember what your father said 
when you were so hurt with Kitty Green, and said 
you would never forgive her?” inquired Alice. 
‘‘ Was it not that we should forgive even as we 
hope to be forgiven? and although there were cases 
in which it was hard to do so, yet we were able to 
do so through Christ strengthening us?” 

Margaret made no answer. The mention of her 
father called up thoughts of other days, and memory 
of the many rough paths she had been called to 
tread; and recalling the many scriptural lessons he 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


381 


had given her to aid lier in passing tlieir Avinding 
course in safety, she grew calm as in lingering over 
the past thankfully she read the lesson of trust for 
the dark present as well as future which it was so 
well calculated to teach. 

But they could not endure this trial alone, for 
their alarmed imaginations at once pictured loss of 
character, and consequently loss of employment, 
and to this would ensue deeper poverty than they 
had yet known. They must tell their new trouble 
to the Browns and Mr. Upton, and in doing so 
found great comfort. Five or six years of mutual 
sympathy and friendship, founded on experience of 
mutual worth—hoAV closely they may knit hearts 
together, so that even in circumstances like these 
no suspicion could arise to weaken even for a mo¬ 
ment the strength of the bond or sully its lustre! 
and they received the comfort their Avords were so 
well calculated to bestoAV, and uttered in the assur¬ 
ance of faith that all Avould come out right. 

^^The path of life,’’ said Mr. Upton, ^^is full of 
interruptions, and there are many dark dispensa¬ 
tions which the Christian at the time cannot fathom. 
In such cases we must rest in the Lord and wait 
patiently for him. Committing our Avay to his guid¬ 
ance and trusting in him, he will bring forth right- 


382 MARGARET GORDON, 

eoiii^noss as the light and judgment as the noon- 
day." 

Some time passed away, however, before Margaret 
had recovered sufficiently from the shock to decide 
exactly what her future course should be. Nothing 
had been heard from Mrs. Ainslie, and the family 
began to hope that she had found her flowers and 
discovered her mistake. But Margarets trid was 
not yet over. Finding no change in the manners 
of those among whom she dwelt, and hearing no 
whispers, she began to recover confidence and con¬ 
template the duties which life demands of every 
one, and, as she did so, felt that further procrasti¬ 
nation would be ^Yrong. No trial is crushing so 
long as we feel that ever so slightly our hearts re¬ 
bound from its pressure, and Margaret was. con¬ 
scious that she had not altogether lost that elasti¬ 
city of mind which is necessary to enable one to 
rise and prepare for the calls of duty. It is only 
as life goes on and youth and hope are deadened, 
that W’e become as calmly acquiescent in sorrow as 
in joy; and even then some minds have a spring of 
vigour and a power of happiness which, after years 
of trial, will enable them to rise, as it were, instan¬ 
taneously as soon as the least relief is given.” 

Margaret’s mind was not exactly of this cast, but 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


383 


obedient ever to the claims of duty, she shook off 
the melancholy that oppressed her and forced her¬ 
self to think and act. She had seen the newspapers 
sometimes when she was at Mrs. Ainslie’s, and 
had read from them advertisements of various 
kinds from servants and others offering and in¬ 
quiring for situations; and she bethought herself 
of consulting John Brown’s weekly paper, in 
which, after some search, she found, at the end of 
a long list of wants,” the wished-for information 
in the following: 

“ AYanted— For three little girls, a nursery gov¬ 
erness, who will take entire charge of them; one 
who has been accustomed to children will be pre¬ 
ferred, and a liberal salary given.” 

This seemed exactly the situation she would like, 
and she only delayed long enough to consult her 
friends on the subject until she set out to undertake 
a new servitude. The place named was at the 
farther end of the town in which Mrs. Ainslie 
lived; and, after reaching the house, she found it 
much grander than the one she had lately left. She 
had no wish to enter into this great mansion, for 
what she had seen of fashionable life had disgusted 
her, and had half determined to return when the 
bright, happy face of a child peeping from a win- 


384 


MARGARET GORDON, 


(low altered her intention, and going up the steps 
she rang the bell. The servant who appeared ush¬ 
ered her into the dining-room, where she waited 
that sick, anxious wait which poor people are so 
often obliged to endure. At last the door opened 
and the lady of the house entered. Margaret rose 
instinctively, less from deference, however, than 
impulse, for the sweet and gracious countenance 
and gentle manner of Mrs. Howard won from her 
instant admiration and respect. She was, indeed, 
one of those rare beings whose beautiful nature 
looked out from every feature and gesture of her 
face and manner, and, carried away by the un¬ 
speakable charm of her words and actions, Marga¬ 
ret felt relieved of all embarrassment as she stated 
the object of her visit and offered herself for the 
situation advertised. 

I am very sorry,’’ replied Mrs. Howard, in a 
tone which made the words convey the certainty 
of the speaker’s sincerity, “ to be obliged to tell you 
that the lady who advertised — a relative who is 
staying for the present with me—has only yester¬ 
day engaged one whom she considers a suitable 
person. Nay, do not look so disappointed,” she 
continued, as she saw a cloud overshadow Mar¬ 
garet’s face; I hope that securing a situation is 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


385 


not of so nmcli importance to you as to give real 
cause for vexation at being a little too late. But I 
have another friend who wants a nursery-maid, 
and if you will give me your name and a recom¬ 
mendation from your last employer, who can vouch 
for your capabilities, I have no doubt but that you 
will be engaged at once.’’ 

^largaret blushed deeply; she told her name, 
and mentioned Mrs. Ainslie as her last employer, 
but frankly declared that she could not ask any 
reference from her, as some unpleasant circum¬ 
stances prevented her doing so. The necessity of 
being prepared with this information, so certain to 
be required and so essential to the obtaining of a 
situation, had never until this moment occurred to 
her, and the question created an embarrassment 
and gave her a confused manner, which Mrs. How¬ 
ard was not slow to notice. 

I hope you are not hurt,” she said, at my 
mentioning the necessity of asking a reference; 
most persons require it, for it is a serious thing to 
place children in the charge of a stranger, and no 
mother who is worthy of the name would do so 
without making inquiries; and this I think is quite 
as much for the advantage of the employed as for 

that of the employer.” 

25 


386 


MARGARET GORDON, 


She felt a humiliating consciousness that what 
Mrs. Howard required was nothing more than all 
would require, but at the same time recognized the 
justice of the demand. Though conscious of her 
own innocence, she was as powerless to comply 
with it as if she had been the guilty thing Mrs. 
Aiuslie had blamed her with being. She therefore 
remained silent, and whilst she did so, Mrs. How¬ 
ard had an opportunity and time to recal some¬ 
thing she had heard respecting Mrs. Ainslie and 
her ‘‘pattern^^ nursery-maid. Margaret at length 
looked up, and, reading aright the altered counte¬ 
nance of her hostess, rose quietly from her chair, 
and with a certain air of dignity and innocence in 
her manner, said: 

“I see that my being unable to refer to Mrs. 
Ainslie has created an injurious impression, and, as 
I have never lived with any other person, there is 
no one else to whom I can refer. I served Mrs. 
Ainslie long and faithfully, but lately she has ac¬ 
cused me of being guilty of a wicked and criminal 
act, and therefore I cannot apply to her. But she 
had a good opinion of me once, and it is some con¬ 
solation to know—as also God knows—that I have 
never wronged her.’’ 

Great is the majesty of truth ; there is an earnest 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


387 


and impressive tone in it, especially when spoken 
under circumstances of great difficulty, which pro¬ 
duces conviction by an inherent candour which all 
feel without any process of reasoning or argument. 
The few words spoken were enough, if not entirely 
to remove suspicion, to soften the kind heart of 
Mrs. Howard; the temporary cloud passed from 
her brow, her generous heart whispered pity for 
one so young, and as Margaret was leaving the 
room she held out her hand and said: • 

I am acquainted with Mrs. Ainslie, and have 
heard her speak more than once in praise of you 
as a nursery-maid; and have heard, too, that she 
believes herself to have been disappointed in you. 
But in spite of the adverse appearances said to 
exist against you, I cannot bring myself to believe 
that you have been guilty of that of which you 
have been accused. It will, however, be very dif¬ 
ficult for you to get such a place as you wish with¬ 
out a reference of some kind.^^ 

When I entered upon Mrs. Ainslie’s service,^^ 
said Margaret, “I had no recommendation but 
from my pastor, which I can get again.’^ 

But do not be offended at my abrupt allusion 
to a subject which must be painful to you, or suffer 
yourself to be too much discouraged,’’ said Mrs. 


388 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Howard. Everybody in N-does not know 

Mrs. Ainslie, and, with a reeoramendation from 
voiir pastor, you may find as good a place as that 
you have lost. To the resolute and simple heart 
strength is always given, and do not fear that you 
will be forgotten by Him without whose know¬ 
ledge not even a sparrow is suffered to fall. And, 
in the mean time, if you should fail to find a place 
such as you desire, come to me once more, and if I 
can help •you, I will.’^ 

Margaret left the presence of Mrs. Howard dis¬ 
heartened somewhat, but not discouraged. As we 
have already said, energy was a strong trait in her 
character, and, cheered by the kind words of the 
lady she had just left, she recovered confidence in 
herself, and, assured of her own innocence, she re¬ 
solved to let the day bear its own burden, and in 
the exercise of her steady faith, leave the future to 
the providence of God. The claims of her family 
were as imperative as ever, and, steeling herself 
against a shrinking from duty which, on account 
of Mrs. Ainsiie’s behaviour, she now felt, she re¬ 
solved to go forward strong in the faith of heavenly 
protection, and face life even in its sternest aspect, 
and meet submissively whatever trials might still 
be in store for her. 



CHAPTER XIX. 


A ROUGH PATH AND A NEW TRIAL. 

X pursuance of this resolution she still con¬ 
sulted the newspaper, and, finding several no¬ 
tices of places such as seemed to suit her, she 
once more set out to seek a home with strangers. 
She met with no success, however. One would not 
take her without a recommendation from her last 
employer; another, who seemed pleasantly willing 
to receive her into her family until she heard Mrs. 
Ainslie’s name mentioned, with an altered counte¬ 
nance said she could not decide at once, but re¬ 
quested her to call next day; and a third, of coarser 
nature, roundly asked her if she was the girl who 
had been Mrs. Ainslie^s pattern nursery-maid?’’ 
and hearing that she had served that lady in the 
capacity mentioned, she was abruptly informed that 
her services would not be required. What was 
poor Margaret to do now ? As she thought over 
the painful circumstances of her present condition, 

it struck her that in applying to Mrs. Preston sho 

38y 




390 


MARGARET GORDON, 


miglit be able to know exactly the amount of 
wrong she was accused of having done, for, fiwni 
the unconnected words of Mrs. Ainslie, of‘^flowers, 
theft and hypocrite,’’ she had been unable to under¬ 
stand the full meaning. It will be remembered 
that while still in Mrs. Ainslie’s service she had 
been told to put the purple flowers into a box 
where there were already some others, and which 
was kept on a high shelf in the nursery closet. 
They were not missed until some time after she 
left, and therefore, as she knew nothing of their 
loss, was utterly unable to comprehend what Mrs. 
Ainslie’s rash and unexpected accusation meant. 
A few words of explanation would have removed 
the wrong impression, and saved days and weeks 
of sorrow to one of the parties and of repentance 
and regret to the other. 

The day, which had been ushered in by a bright 
autumnal sun, was drawing to a close as Margaret 
pursued her way homeward, and dark clouds, gath¬ 
ering in the sky and shrouding the landscape in a 
solemn veil, anticipated the coming night. Mar¬ 
garet, however, did not notice the change in the ap¬ 
pearance of the heavens; she had passed through a 
severe trial on that day, and felt herself much pros¬ 
trated both in mind and body. Unwilling to meet 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


391 


her mother whilst such a weight rested on her heart, 
lest she should not be able to control her emotions, 
and thus add to the distress of the family, she sat 
down on the trunk of the same fallen tree which 
had so often afforded her a resting-place on her 
many journeys to and from N-. 

Everything was still, sad and gloomy; no sounds 
of life broke upon the mournful silence that reigned 
around; the notes of some late birds, wheeling 
home to their nests, alone disturbed the quietness 
of the evening hour. All was calculated to deepen 
her sadness, and, yielding to the tide of her long 
pent-up emotions, she gave way to a violent fit of 
weeping. She asked herself what course was best 
to pursue in this sore trial; wondered if Mrs. Ains- 
lie had indeed spread the injurious report that by 
taking away her good name was to shut her out 
from finding employment; and how were they all 
to live if they could get no work ? Her excited 
fancy painted the case in the strongest colours, and 
a sense of misery, such as she had never before ex¬ 
perienced, overpowered her. A vague, indescrib¬ 
able dread of something being about to happen op¬ 
pressed and filled her heart with anguish such as 
few are called to experience. 

But Margaret’s anguish, though great, was but 



392 


MARGARET GORDON, 


momentary, for Gotl, whom she served, was near to 
comfort her. Times of trouble are times of honesty, 
and when trial comes to the lover of the world it is 
to the world that he will turn for relief; hut the 
lover of God seeks consolation from the only one 
sure source, which alone is found in Him to whom 
the prayer of the upriglit is a delight. It is then, 
when the heart most feels its weakness and depend¬ 
ence, that it yearns most sensibly after that in which 
it trusts; and never does it feel its weakness and 
dependence more than in the days of its tribulation; 
it is then that the believer throws himself upon 
God with the spirit of a sorrowing, affectionate and 
trustful child, and finds that the hour of sorrow is 
the hour in which he is blessed with special inter¬ 
course with his Maker, and he finds a comfort in 
affliction, for he is assured that afflictions work 
together for good’^ to those who love God. It is 
then, when the infirmity of his nature will force 
him to seek a support mightier than his own, and 
with deepest submission he owns himself helpless 
without God’s help, the weight of the burden will 
adjust itself precisely to the need, and as it in¬ 
creases so will the spirit within be called forth to 
endure,” until at last is learned the realization of 
the truth of that cheering promise which never can 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


393 


be broken—tliy days so sliall thy strength 
be/^ 

Comfort came, however, as she recalled the prom¬ 
ises in which her pious father had taught her to 
trust; and, although she still continued to weep, 
her tears were not so bitter as at first, and the tide 
of grief gradually lessened : Call upon me in the 

day of trouble and I will deliver thee, and thou 
shalt glorify meCast thy burden on the Lord 
and he shall sustain thee;’’ Trust ye in the Lord 
for ever, for in him is everlasting strength;” and 
the response made by her heart was in the words 
of Job, “ Though he slay me, yet will I trust in 
him, and will not fear what man can do.” As she 
thus communed with herself, she found a soothing 
which religion alone can impart. She felt as though 
an unseen Arm was buoying her uj') amid the billows 
of tribulation. There seemed to be another foun¬ 
tain opened within her heart—a fountain of peace 
and quietness—which, mingling with the tide of 
her grief, formed a sweet concord of thoughts and 
feelings and affections blending themselves with the 
decrees and allotments of God, and mitigated the 
severity of her distress. 

As she poured out the anguish of her soul to 
Him whoA^ executes judgment for the oppressed,” 


394 


MARGARET GORDON, 


her mind regained comparative serenity. A soften¬ 
ing balm was infused into the wounds of her spirit, 
and although ready to acknowledge that she could 
claim nothing from God upon the footing of desert, 
yet she could trust him that he would hide her 
in the secret of his tabernacle from the pride of 
man,’’ and keep her safely under his pavilion 
from the strife of tongues,” and place her upon a 
rock against which the tempest may violently 
beat, but which it cannot shake. Truly the se¬ 
cret of 'the Lord is with them that fear liim, the 
everlasting arms are beneath him, they are the 
shield of his help, and through them he shall come 
forth of all his enemies.” 

Do our readers wonder why such a severe trial 
as this we have just described was allotted to one 
so anxious to pursue a consistent Christian course 
as was Margaret Gordon ? God has reared up no 
bulwark impregnable to misfortune in order to 
separate the pious and virtuous from the rest of 
mankind and to screen them from the common 
disasters of life. No; they are called to have 
troubles just as others have; but God, who has 
allowed the trouble, has with it opened sources of 
consolation which the worldling can never know. 
The defence which religion provides is altogether 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


395 


of an internal kind, for it is the heart which it 
professes to guard. It endows them with a strength 
of mind which enables them to endure the pressure 
of adversity with calmness and submission to the 
will of Him who doeth all things well,’^ affords 
that peace and security which arises from the 
belief in divine protection, and does truly bring 
them into the secret of his tabernacle’^ by open¬ 
ing sources of consolation which are hidden from 
others. 

Thus soothed, Margaret had time to think over 
the late unexpected and painful occurrence which 
had caused so much sorrow to herself and her 
friends. Evil tongues had been at work; the la¬ 
dies she had called upon had all been listening to 
slanderous reports—always more readily listened 
to than just ones. Of this she was assured; but 
who was the slanderer? Could it be Mrs. Ainslie 
that was thus wilfully endeavouring to injure one 
who was not only innocent, but who had served 
her so faithfully as to call forth praises ?—praises 
made so publicly in the circle of her acquaintances 
that now, in the present changed state of affairs, 
they proved an actual injury. This, however, was 
not exactly the case. Mrs. Ainslie had, indeed, 
acted hastily and wrongly in not waiting to hear 


396 


MARGARET GORDON, 


what Margaret had to say about the flowers, which 
so nearly resembled her own. But she had said 
nothing which she had not some reason to believe 
true. The flowers were gone, and as she remarked 
these so similar until compared with those she had 
lost, and remembered the depredations which had 
been committed while Margaret was with her, she 
might be excused if for a moment she doubted; 
but, judging too hastily and under the influence of 
anger at having been so long the dupe, as she be¬ 
lieved, of one she so implicitly trusted, she had for¬ 
gotten, if indeed she had ever learned, the Christian 
rule, not to speak evil of one another,’^ and con¬ 
demned instead of listening to any explanation. 
But who has not at times sinned in like manner ? 

There is but one safe line for all—the line drawn 
by the Bible. The evil talk which we hear ought 
not to be repeated, but should be kept buried in our 
own bosoms, unless drawn forth by an undoubted 
call of duty. If we venture to overstep this mark, 
we break a direct command, and cannot be guiltless 
of the consequences of our careless words. 

Mrs. Aiuslie had, however, no idea of the extent 
of the injury she was doing when she mentioned 
Margaret’s supposed dereliction to two or three 
intimate friends, who laughingly told their two or 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


397 


three intimate friends how they pitied poor Mrs. 
Ainslie, who for once had confessed herself com¬ 
pletely deceived—she who had always prided her¬ 
self on her penetration.’’ She was thoughtless 
enough, too, to mention it in the presence of her 
nursery-girl, who repeated it in the kitchen, from 
whence, much exaggerated, it was carried abroad in 
a hundred channels. She would have been grieved 
had she known the great sorrow her rash accusa¬ 
tion and subsequent assertions had brought to the 
Gordons; for her temper was naturally good, and 
she was well disposed toward the poor, and gave 
liberally to them when she was asked, for she was 
too indolent to seek them out; but regarding them, 
together with her servants, as an inferior race, she 
never thought or cared whether they had feelings 
to wound or were susceptible of injury. Life had 
flowed on smoothly with her; from childhood every 
wish had been gratified, and in the miserable and 
long-indulged habits of selfishness which had be¬ 
come part of her nature, she forgot that there were 
duties which the rich are bound to render to the 
poor, equally as the poor are required to serve the 
rich. If she had made an open accusation, it would 
have been better than these whispers, which in¬ 
creased in magnitude the farther they went, for then 


398 


MARGARET GORDON, 


contradictory facts might have been brought for¬ 
ward to disprove it; as it was, there was nothing 
tangible, for who can take hold of they say,’’ which 
is n'lostly the only evidence in such cases ? 

Absorbed by her busy thoughts, Margaret did 
not observe how the daylight had faded, and 
that twilight shades were gathering over the 
fields and woods, whose heavy trunks and half¬ 
leafless branches were becoming one dark, indistinct 
mass, over which dark clouds, foreboding rain, 
rested, until a damp, heavy mist coming up through 
the valley sent a chill through her frame, warned 
her of the unhealthfulness of her position and for¬ 
bade further delay. Removing as far as possible 
all traces of her late violent emotion, she walked 
quickly toward home, which she reached just in 
time to quiet the uneasiness her mother was begin¬ 
ning to feel at her protracted absence. She re¬ 
counted, in answer to their many questions, the 
disappointments she had experienced, carefully con¬ 
cealing the portion that had caused her such deep 
distress, lest it should trouble them, and spoke 
cheerfully of the future: 

Something, dear mother, will be provided; 
God will care for us now, even as he did on that 
stormy day at N-, when he sent Mr. Berkley 



OR CAN I FORGLVEf 


399 


to us with good tidings. I can never forget that 
providence. But I am very, very tired ; let us 
have prayers, dear mother, and let me go to bed; 
this has been a wearisome day.’’ 

Prayers being over,_she left the rest to remain 
up and went to bed, to think over plans for the 
future and how to regulate the present. But not 
long did she remain awake. Worn-out by the 
painful occurrences of the day, and exhausted by 
the force of the severe emotions they had called 
forth, tired Nature demanded rest. No human 
being can endure a great strain of mental anguish 
long. The dull murmur of the voices of those who 
were still conversing in the outer room ceased to 
be heard; a drowsy weakness stole over her, and 
she soon forgot all her troubles in the land of 
dreams. Sleep came; Sleep, the sweet restorer of 
exhausted Nature, and the blessing of the woeworn 
and weary, wrapped her in his kind oblivion; 
and great is the love and mercy of Him who, in 
the midst of sorrow, gives to his beloved sleep.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE LOST FLOWERS FOUND, AND A STRANGE DISCOVERY. 



HE Sabbath morning lay in the perfection 
of its autumnal splendour over the pastoral 


^ landscai^e,’and the inmates of almost every 
farm-house and cottage were preparing to go up 
to the house of God. Margaret arose from a sound 
but not refreshing sleep, and, with the rest of the 
family, made the usual arrangements for attending 
public worship. There are few who have not at 
some time or other experienced the same feelings 
as did our poor servant-girl when she awoke, with 
the at first dim consciousness of some painful 
weight resting upon them, but which gradually 
increases in force as the truth is recollected and 
the trouble assumes a more definite form. But in 
addition to this mental disturbance was a languor 
and physical prostration which pressed heavily 
upon her, and rendered her entirely unfit for any 
exertion. 


400 



CAN I FORGIVE? 


401 


Her mother noticed her looking very ill, and 
recommended rest and quiet at home, and she 
gladly complied, for she felt that to be alone on 
this, the blessed Sabbath, would bring her into 
closer communion with God, who alone knew the 
weight that was pressing upon her heart. A holy 
calm seemed to rest on everything around, and, 
taking her well-worn Bible, she sat down by the 
window with the shadow of the half-unleaved 
branches of the old pear tree chequering the page, 
and felt soothed and comforted. That Book had 
been her support in all her trials—the death of her 
father, the prospect of deeper poverty than the 
family had yet known, and the perplexities of her 
life whilst in Mrs. Ainslie’s service. Uncon¬ 
sciously she turned to those chapters in which 
comfort is promised to the afflicted, and now every 
verse seemed to overflow with more and newer 
meanings, and to ‘^joreathe a blessing farther and 
farther’^ into her troubled soul, so that she was at 
length able to banish all disturbing earthly emo¬ 
tions, and keep the Sabbath sanctified without in¬ 
trusion to the great purpose for which it was 
designed. 

The blessed Sabbath! how sacred is its calm! 
how holy and soothing is its repose to those who 
26 


402 ' MARGARET GORDON, 

set it apart to God! It is a day when Nature 
seems to rest from her labour, even as God did 
when the work of creation was completed—a day 
when the poor man may remit his toil and the rich 
man forget his anxieties; all who will may find it 
a season of rest and refreshment, from which the 
Christian traveller goes on his way rejoicing, for 
within its hallowed space he has found communion 
with God his Saviour. But none can estimate the 
blessing granted by Eternal Wisdom in the institu¬ 
tion of the Sabbath like those who are worn-out by 
labour, poverty, or other ills, for the turmoil of 
earth is then for a time suspended. ^Tis then that 
the iron band of the six days’ chain is broken, 
and the pious poor man renews his hold on heaven. 
The clamours, cares, anxieties and struggles of life 
are forgotten in the calm it brings, even as the 
sound of the waves that have beat against, the ves¬ 
sel’s side is no more remembered by the crew Avho 
have moored her securely within the circle of 
some landlocked bay, beautiful in its perpetual 
calm.” 

Monday came, and with it came the call for re¬ 
newed labour. Margaret felt it her duty to aid in 
the family tasks, and tried to forget and overcome 
the languor and depression which hung around 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


403 


her. Her head would become giddy and a strange 
sensation of faintness would come over her at 
times, which she resolutely tried to'overcome by 
keeping herself busily employed. But nature 
would not be baffled. After a few days passed in 
this way she was seized with a violent chill, suc¬ 
ceeded by a high fever, and was carried insensible 
to her bed by her alarmed mother. 

The family at first thought her illness would, 
like her former indisposition, prove temporary, 
but she gradually grew worse. Imperative nature 
at last obliged her to yield, and she lay in a low 
fever, of which the symptoms became daily more 
alarming, and made medical skill necessary. 

John Brown went for Dr. Harrison, who came 
at once. He looked very grave as he examined 
her pulse, and after asking if anything unusual 
had occurred to cause such a violent attack, which 
he said had principally fallen upon her nerves, 
pronounced her to be in imminent danger. 

She may have contracted this fever by staying 
out so late on that damp evening you speak of,’^ he 
added; but there has been something more to 
cause this strange disturbance, and we have every¬ 
thing to fear from the incipient symptoms of brain 
fever which are present. However, we will hope 


404 


MARGARET GORDON, 


for the best;’’ and, after admonishing them of the 
necessity of entire rest and quiet, kindly assured 
the anxious mother that he would do everything 
in his power to restore her. 

At the beginning of Margaret’s illness, Alice 
had behaved with the calmness and composure 
accordant with her character; but now when, in 
her confused and wandering mind, she recalled the 
painful past, and in her partial delirium would 
murmur forth The flowers! the flowers! every¬ 
body will believe it! mother, it is not true !” those 
muttered exclamations filled her maternal heart 
with intense anguish, and her grave and resigned 
demeanour changed into an expression of hopeless¬ 
ness and sadness which it was painful to witness. 
But there was no word of murmur or impatience 
uttered; her heart foreboded the worst—Margaret 
would die, and how could she submit to such a sore 
dispensation? It was once more to be tested 
whether, with all her quiet humility and often 
sorely-tried faith, she could willingly acknowledge 
the supremacy of God and bow in silence to this 
severe decree. But although all was so dark, and 
her troubles at times seemed too heavy to be borne, 
she did not murmur, but prayed that strength ac¬ 
cording to the day might be bestowed, for she knew 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


405 


that even in the deepest wounds that any one can 
suffer there is a divine Hand that can pour upon 
them a healing balm—a balm that flows in and is 
derived from the fountain of heaven. 

The medicines given by Dr. Harrison soon re¬ 
moved the worst symptoms. The delirium sub¬ 
sided, and she fell into a state of lethargy scarcely 
less alarming to her mother and Aunt Hannah, 
who aided Alice constantly in nursing her, for so 
profound was the stupor that to them it had the 
appearance of death. It was, however, salutary— 
the result of reaction from excessive fatigue of both 
mind and body; every nerve had been overstrained, 
and nature demanded that the whole system should 
sleep for a while. 

Gradually, however, and at intervals, her thoughts 
would wander back wearily to earth, and she would 
talk, as if in a dream, of those things which had so 
disturbed her; then, again, all would be dark and 
stagnant as before, framing no thought nor taking 
notice of anything that was passing. And so the 
days came and went, but, although time passed 
heavily to the inmates of the cottage, it brought 
the usual change of seasons in its flight. 

Autumn was exchanging his garb of many tints 
for one of russet hue; fierce winds from the hills 


406 


MARGARET GORDON, 


swept over the late verdant fields and plains, and 
left the woods bare; cold, gray skies warned the 
feathered choristers that it was time to seek a 
warmer home, and moaning blasts took the place of 
the sweet harmonies that had lately mingled in the 
leafy coverts. Many storms had come and gone 
during the advance of the season, but its close was 
marked by one of more than common severity. 
The thunder rattled over the roof of the cottage, 
flashes of lightning gleamed across the darkened 
room, and the fierce howling wind came in gusts, 
levelling fences and uprooting trees, but Margaret 
still remained wholly insensible to the strife, The 
kind watchers by her bedside, fearing that she 
would be alarmed, now and then ventured, in their 
anxiety, to whisper words of inquiry, to which she 
returned no answer, for, although not wholly in¬ 
sensible now, she had no power to reply. She had 
taken no notice of the lapse of time, or the change 
from morning to noon or from noon to evening; 
she could understand what the speakers said, but, 
oppressed with unspeakable languor, was able to 
frame but few thoughts and to perform no action. 
That storm was long remembered for its violence, 
but He at whose command 'the winds blow and 
Tift up the waves of the sea, and who stilleth the 


OE CAN I FORGIVEf 


407 


rage thereof/^ sent it forth as a messenger of his 
providence to bring comfort to the hopeless and 
bestow peace on the afflicted. 

At the same time that Margaret had left Mrs. 
Ainslie’s service, Mrs. Preston had gone on a long 
visit to a relative in the West, from which she only 
returned a day or two before the storm: she there¬ 
fore knew nothing of the painful occurrences we 
have just related; perhaps if she liad not been ab¬ 
sent they would not have taken place, or, at least, 
their harsher features might have been softened. 
Her judicious counsels would have moderated Mrs. 
Ainslie’s haste, and prevented poor Margaret from 
being condemned without proper investigation. 
Her house had been shut up and her servants dis¬ 
missed while she was absent, and she was now 
staying a few days with her niece, whilst arrange¬ 
ments were being made for her to return to her 
own home. 

On the evening of the storm, the two ladies 
were sitting together in the parlour, conversing so 
earnestly that they did not notice the increasing 
gloom, which, spreading over the sky and darken¬ 
ing every object, heralded the approaching tempest. 
The subject was the trouble with servants, always 
a prolific one. Mrs. Ainslie complained of the 


408 


MARGARET GORDON, 


great trouble she had had lately; she had been 
obliged to change so often, and now she would 
have to dismiss Susan, the nursery-girl, who was 
cross and impatient, always quarrelling with the 
children; Grace and Philip had grown quite rude, 
and Louisa was all the time fretting after Mar¬ 
garet, and urging her mother to send for her to 
return. 

^^And will she not come back?’^ asked Mrs. Pres¬ 
ton; “I am sure you will not find anyone to serve 
you better, and why not gratify Louisa, whose 
health is, as I see, by no means improved ? Do 
you know where she is ?” 

No,” was the reply, I do not; but I do not 
want her back; she is a deceiver and a hypocrite. 
Why, do you know. Aunt Fanny, that all the time 
she was so sanctimonious, reading the Bible to the 
children and pretending to be so good, she was the 
thief who stole the things we missed, and was so 
cunning that we never once thought of suspecting 
her?” 

^'But are you sure you are right? Have you 
sufficient proof that Margaret purloined the miss¬ 
ing articles? One should be very careful about 
making such an assertion, for the being wrongfully 
accused of an act like this may be productive of 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 409 

the greatest injury. I hope, Clara, you have not 
mentioned your suspicions to any one?’' 

Mrs. Ainslie did not answer the last question, 
but went on to state what had occurred on the day 
she was at Mrs. Gordon’s cottage, adding— 

I went there intending to bring her home with 
me, but when I saw the flowers she had taken out 
of her bonnet—the hypocrite who would not wear 
flowers—lying there, I taxed her roundly with the 
theft and left at once.” 

^•But did you ask no explanation, Clara?” asked 
Mrs. Preston. Every one has a right to be heard 
and to speak in her own behalf. Besides, artifi¬ 
cial flowers are so much alike. You will often find 
those made of the most common material so closely 
resembling the French—for they are often made 
from the same pattern—that they might readily be 
taken for them ; the only difference is in the mate¬ 
rials used in the making. Did you examine the 
flowers before you made the charge ?” 

No, I did not; I was too much amazed,” said 
Mrs. Ainslie. But her great embarrassment 
showed that she was guilty, for neither she nor any 
one of the family attempted to utter a word.” 

Perhaps, Clara, you did not give them time,” 
said Mrs. Preston. I can well imagine the para- 


410 


MARGARET GORDON, 


lyzing effect of such a scene as you describe/’ And 
then, in a grave tone, she added: The poor are 
often suspected of pilfering because the indigent 
sometimes steal, and suspicions are often freely ex¬ 
pressed against them to their lasting injury. And 
when, through some slanderous or false report, their 
reputations are permanently ruined, it is regarded 
of no consequence that their good name is for ever 
lost, because they are poor and considered of no 
account in the community. The rich man may 
steal by wholesale or defraud by thousands, and 
still, through reputation of his wealth, assume a 
high place in society. But, Clara, God cares for 
the little ones of his. flock. He will May judg¬ 
ment to the line and righteousness to the plummet 
and with this assurance, when we contemplate the 
unequal ways of man, we are cheered that all will 
be made riglit hereafter, for that which we know 
not now shall yet be made plain. The poor man, 
whose heart has often been wounded by uncharitable 
suspicion, will receive justice; God will plead his 
cause. He who has oppressed the poor and made 
widows and orphans weep, will receive his reward; 
God will judge him. Oh, Clara, how careful should 
we be not to offend or injure one of God’s little 
ones! We must, in all our intercourse with our 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


411 


fellow-creatures, remember that the poor have sen¬ 
sibilities as well as the rich, and the servant may 
have more tender feelings than the mistress. An 
uncharitable suspicion or abusive act may wound as 
deeply the tenant of a hovel as the possessor of a 
palace; there is but this difference—the former 
must endure, while the latter can defend himself.^’ 

AYhat Mrs. Ainslie would have answered we 
cannot tell, for the storm had now come on in all 
its force and was raging violently. A loud crash, 
as if glass was broken, and a cry from the nursery, 
were heard. The conversation was abruptly ended, 
and both of the speakers ran hastily up stairs to 
see what was the matter.. They found all in the 
greatest confusion; the terrified children were 
screaming, and the nurse-maid, scarcely less fright¬ 
ened, instead of endeavouring to soothe them, Avas 
scolding and bidding them to ^Miush up with their 
crying; they made her so nervous she did not 
know what she was doing.’’ How difiPerent from 
our poor Margaret, who would have quieted them 
by telling of Him who ^Miath measured the waters 
in the hollow of his hand,” and says to the winds 
and the waves ‘‘Peace, be still,” and they obey 
him! 

The crash which caused the great alarm was 


412 


MARGARET GORDON, 


found to proceed from the filling of the large syca¬ 
more tree which overhung the nursery windows. 
It was old—had been planted by Mr. Ainslie’s 
father. When a boy he had played in its shade 
and gathered its button-like balls. It was a fa¬ 
vourite with all of the family, who prized it for its 
age and leafy screen which curtained the windows 
on that side of the dwelling and sheltered them 
from the fierce heats of summer. But it had now 
yielded to the autumn blast, and in falling had 
struck the window and shattered the glass, thus 
frightening the children and causing the outcry 
which had alarmed not only Mrs. Ainslie, but the 
usually calm Mrs. Preston. 

Reassured by the presence of their mother and 
aunt, quiet was soon restored in the nursery; the 
storm passed over, and at a scarcely later hour 
than usual the lately disturbed family forgot 
their recent alarm in sound and tranquilizing 
sleep. 

The morning after the storm rose bright, clear 
and comparatively calm; nevertheless the aspect 
of nature was not a cheerful one, for deep shadows 
from flying clouds were still passing over the face 
of the autumnal sky and everything looked mourn¬ 
fully dreary, for the ravages of the storm were 




The Discovery 


Page 413 

























































































































































y-KJWL-H «T(i) im 1» M^L'cifiV/ u-/foa^ ^ilX 

t-> r ^?ioa;ri({ |i>itiH)*!S2 uilJ *•: ii’^^ob iijstEiKl 9r>y.' 

4 jr/? n^flj ‘idi I'-i'/o aw^iJH t)T’>yr 

...viii ,u -retlisia itr e* ffji/x'&ift /hUlw ^ao(JdloaH 4 > 

Off : 7 d inof>i 7 o boiobjiot ^ 7 i 8 ini*jWj 

«-0 “ ^ huu ^;*outdXw<i 'to 

^ .i '••i bfti; Ixoji Jihio Jo fM>^0'dWolyiUt{ fi Jifiod 


r^yfjr i^i> ytii tiftimlrOI lo YJiU<if«riV>q CWl feJ27/orOliT.: 

'»|:>3ntA . (I/. aJl ?wi oiOtffii 

qj>' Oil J>i;»(»ff8 If iMfl ^^ob-lf) W;^Q7riJi bfld 

.V ;■’*■/ . ” ' ■ 

-fetlJS >l LfJfi OlfTl 

* ‘Vt «r' 

-ri|L>Ui ,7>j»l^;i; rfrli lo ■ .OU^« O/i ' 

of;j .-^lajloTftW a>>/i ,o:nj .Uo oji-rbiry^ S£ 'io c.^;» 


ust^j tiiroi jj to,^OH)iq’ 

> hi:^SiI Sifi tsti ,fxi7Qiqr;i‘j .lomUdi ij 

•. - • ? ,di?< mm!f 


^frNoii I 

' I j.r*//rrb hfjl' 


bnjs b/r, > V ? ].r-;V« Hit 
' bfff. ^rrp!-■■**-M- :^,rrt:ny^i i 

di',ym ,. ji, ii 


‘ . ',4 , ^ 

'•( ', . th"^ ,r : 8 {i 4 >oqct 

i1' r ^ isoib fgoTei 

to -ciHif odX 


Utj^ rbi odocni-fOil .tidj ivl y Jjitg 




OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


413 


great. The garden was laid waste, the late flowers 
were beaten down to the ground, branches of tree? 
were strewn over the lawn; there was everywhere 
desolation, which the sun, as it rose higher in the 
eastern sky, rendered more evident by the contrast 
of his external brightness, and bringing to the 
heart a burdensome sense of chill and sadness. 

There was no possibility of restoring the old syc¬ 
amore to its former upright position. Mr. Ainslie 
had therefore given orders that it should be cut up 
into firewood and removed, and the grounds cleared 
as speedily as possible from the other wrecks left by 
the storm. The most of the family, mourning the 
loss of the favourite old tree, were out watching the 
process of cutting, when a loud exclamation from 
one of the men employed, as he placed his hand on 
a largfe branch he had just severed from the trunk, 
awoke a closer attention from all. 

^^See what I have found here in this hollow 
branchhe called out, as he exhibited a handful 
of shining articles he had drawn out from this ob¬ 
scure and unsuspected receptacle—rings, thimbles, 
spoons and what not?’^ All pressed forward and 
recognized the articles missed during the spring and 
summer, the loss of which had at first caused much 
trouble and anxiety in the household, and latterly 


.414 


MARGARET GORDON, 


added largely to the suspicion with which Mrs. 
Ainslie regarded Margaret. 

The articles were at once carried to her. She 
examined them—not one was missing. The beau¬ 
tiful amethyst breastpin, the disappearance of 
which had caused Norah to leave, was restored 
unharmed. 

But who was the thief? Who had taken the 
pains to hide the articles in the hollow of the tree? 

I think,said one of the men, your pet crow 
has been the thief. Crows will steal like every¬ 
thing; everybody knows that. Just look at him 
there, chattering as if he was angry at having 
his nest broken up and his stolen goods taken 
away 

And so it was; the large branches of the syca¬ 
more hung closely over the nursery windows. 
Black Petercould, during the summer, when 
they were constantly open, go in and out as he 
pleased; and as when the boys were at home he had 
the range of the whole house, he had taken advan¬ 
tage of his liberty and carried off whatever he could 
find, hiding all in his nest in the hollow of the tree. 
And now he sat on the branch of a tree at a little 
distance, smoothing his ruffled plumes and chatter¬ 
ing his displeasure, making other noisy demon- 


OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


415 


strations, greatly to the amusement of the watching 
children and servants. 

You see now, Clara,said Mrs. Preston, ^‘ how 
wrong it is to make hasty conclusions and assert 
suspicions as facts, making random assertions which, 
as in this case, are well calculated to wound the 
feelings or reputation of any one. You say you 
taxed Margaret Gordon with being dishonest; you 
now see that she was innocent as far as the loss of 
these articles is concerned.’^ 

^^But the flowers. Aunt Fanny, the flowers—I 
saw them myself; there can be no mistake there,’’ 
replied Mrs. Ainslie, as she rose hastily and left 
the room, having no wish to hear any more on the 
subject, for she was beginning to feel that she had 
done wrong, but had as yet no idea of acknowledg¬ 
ing her error. 

The garden, as we have said, was a perfect wreck. 
Some late flowers that she prized had been left out, 
and she went herself to see how they had fared and 
to Avhat extent they were damaged. The gardener 
had been at work from an early hour; the flowers, 
about which she was solicitous, disordered by the 
rush of the tempest, were restored to nearly their 
former appearance, and much of the usual trim 
neatness of the flower-beds and walks was already 


416 


MARGARET GORDON, 


regained. Mrs. Ainslie had advanced some dis¬ 
tance into the garden before she saw any one but a 
lad, who was' busy wheeling away the rubbish. 
She was about to inquire where Burton the gar¬ 
dener was, when she saw him approaching from a 
clump of shrubbery which stood in one corner of 
the garden. 

See here, madam, what I have found tied on 
the little bushes up there—the bushes you told me 
3mu wanted set out this fall. I just thought it 
would be a good time after this big rain, and only 
see what I have found.’^ 

As he spoke he handed her a number of artificial 
flowers, faded by the weather and still wet from 
the rain, but not so totally defaced but that she 
recognized them at once. 

Mrs. Ainslie was not an evil-intentioned person, 
and a pang of deep regret shot through her heart 
as she thought of having charged the loss upon the 
guiltless—one, too, who had served her so faith¬ 
fully and merited such different treatment. Tak¬ 
ing the flowers from the gardener, she went with 
them in her hand straight to the room where she 
had left Mrs. Preston, and found her still there. 

Aunt Fann}", this is a day of wonders,” she 
exclaimed, as she held up the limp and faded 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 417 

flowers; we liave first found my loiig-missing 
jewels, and now liere are the lost flowers come 
most strangely to light and she then proceeded to 
tell where and how the gardener had found them. 

And now,’^ she added, ^^how do you think they 
got there ? The crow, indeed, carried off the other 
things. How strange it is that we never thought 
of his hiding them away, when he was so much 
through the house, and every one knows that those 
birds will pilfer and hide away in their nests ! But 
the flowers were taken from a box in the nursery 
and tied on the bushes. Who could have done it?’' 

Mrs. Preston was about to say, “ Perhaps it was 
the children,” but before she could venture to 
brave the displeasure the remark would be sure to 
call forth, little Philip, who had followed his 
mother into the room, cried out. 

Mamma, I know who did it; it was Gracie 
and Cousin Mary. They climbed up to the cup¬ 
board and got them, and we had a party in the 
garden, and then they gave me lots of candy, and 
said I must not tell that they took the flowers.” 

Mrs. Ainslie looked as if she would like to 
doubt Philip’s word, but Mrs. Preston advised 
that Grace should be summoned and answer for 

herself. 

27 


418 


MARGARET GORDON, 


“ This is no trifling matter,” she said. Mar¬ 
garet Gordon is poor, a servant Giving out’ for 
hire; her character, her best possession, is at stake 
in this matter, and it is a serious thing to bring a 
false accusation. Kemember that tlie Scripture 
tells us that the man that ‘ beareth false witness 
against his neighbour is as a sword and a sharp 
arrow,’ and a false witness shall not be unpun¬ 
ished ; and ^ he that speaketh falsely against the 
helpless shall not escape.’ ” 

Mrs. Ainslie did not answer; her conscience re¬ 
proached her slightly, for had she not told Mrs. 
Brooks, and one or two other particular friends 
who told it to others, so that it had been whispered 
about and exulted over how Mrs. Ainslie had been 
deceived in her “ pattern nurse ?” 

The remarks of her pious aunt, however, struck 
her conscience somewhat, but she endeavoured to 
check the slight twinge by saying to Grace, as she 
entered the room with Philip, 

“Gracie, darling, you surely did not do such a 
naughty thing as to steal mamma’s flowers and tie 
them on the bushes ? I am sure my Grade would 
not do such a naughty thing.” 

^^No, mamma, I did not, I did not; Philip is 
fibbing.” 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


419 


Mamma/’ said Philip, I ain’t fibbing. I 
saw Gracie and Cousin Mary when they took the 
flowers, and they gave me lots of candy not to 
tell.” 

Clara, ray dear Clara,” said Mrs. Preston, most 
earnestly, “ there are moments in our lives which, 
although but moments, are full of important mean¬ 
ings, and in their fleeting space often determine for 
good or evil, which shall predominate; and thus 
have a lasting eftect upon the character. This is 
one of those important periods. Do not let it pass 
unused for good, lest the neglect should tend to 
evil. Find out the truth from Grace, who is but 
a child, and acted perhaps more through thought¬ 
lessness than a desire to do wrong. It may be to 
her a lesson for good which will prove a lasting 
benefit through life and save her from much future 
sorrow.” 

Grace, on being closely questioned and finding 
falsehood useless, confessed that she had taken the 
flowers, but intended to put them back into the 
box, but forgot it; for you know, mamma, we 
went out the next day to Mrs. Raby’s and stayed 
more than a week, so I never thought of the 
flowers.” 

But why did you take the flowers at all, Gra- 


420 MARGARET GORDON, 

cie asked Mrs. Ainslie. Did you not know it 
was wrong 

“You know, mamma/’answered the child, “you 
said that when Cousin Mary and the Rabys came 
we might have a party, and that we might have it 
in the garden. I wanted to have my party like 
yours, and all the children talked so much about 
flowers, and said nobody had parties without having 
flowers; so I took them out of the box just to have 
‘make-believes/ like you had, and tied them on 
the bushes. But I did not know it would rain so, 
and, indeed, I forgot them; but Philip had no 
business to tell.” 

Mrs. Ainslie remained silent; she saw that the 
child had only acted on the example she had her¬ 
self set before her, and her conscience told her that 
the error was her own. She had had much re¬ 
ligious instruction from her pious aunt, but in her 
prosperous life, the stream of which had flowed 
without interruption, the world had been very de¬ 
lightful, and there seemed but little necessity to 
seek for anything beyond. She had, however, been 
the child of many prayers; and when are the pray¬ 
ers of the righteous altogether unavailing? The 
soul of religion was sleeping, but it was not dead. 
The germ had not perished; it was to bud and 


OR CAR I FORGIVE? '421 

bring forth fruit, but in God’s own good time and 
way; for he, 

“ Severe in mercy, cliastening in his love, 

Ofttimes, by dark and solemn visitations, ' 

’ Doth interpose and bring the wanderer back 
To the straight path.” 

What an active mind that child has !” said Mrs. 
Ainslie, after Grace was sent off to the nursery, 
where she was to remain all day by way of punish¬ 
ment. Who would have ever thought of her 
trying to imitate my party, by tying flowers on the 
bushes in the garden ?” 

I do not wish to be unnecessarily strict,” said 
Mrs. Preston; ^‘children are imitative beings, and 
will follow example whether for good or ill; and, 
although in this case she only did what she saw 
you do, and the fault is quite as much yours as 
hers, I think, Clara, you should take advantage 
of this occasion particularly for inculcating truth 
and sincerity. God has given you an important 
task in the charge of these children, whom you are 
required to bring up for him. On your training, 
on your example to them, dej^end consequences of 
most weighty nature; how careful you should be 
how or what you impress on the yet unsullied 
tablet of your child’s mind! You see how readily 


422 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Grace received the lesson conveyed in the ‘ make- 
believes how that deception, trifling in itself, led 
to the greater one of taking the flowers without 
your permission; how little Philip was bribed 
with candy not to tell; how the loss of the flowers 
brought pain to the heart and suspicion on the 
character of one in humble life, which perhaps may, 
by inflicting lasting injury on her reputation, be 
the means of preventing her from making an hon¬ 
est living, on which, unlike you who have every 
luxury, she must depend for daily bread; and, 
lastly, that in the fear of your displeasure, the 
child, conscious that she did wrong in the whole 
affair, told a deliberate falsehood.’’ 

^‘Aunt Fanny,” said Mrs. Ainslie, I think 
you make too much of the matter; it is nothing 
but the loss of a few flowers. What harm can 
that do?” 

The making or taking of the flowers is nothing, 
but the principle involved everything — the pos- 
sihle injury which might be done to one who to 
you was a faithful friend rather than a servant, and 
the certain harm which any other than a straight¬ 
forward course would be sure to do to your child. 
Tliere is, Clara, in childhood, ^a holy ignorance, 
a beautiful credulity, a peculiar sanctity,’ that one 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


423 


cannot/ contemplate without something of a reve¬ 
rential feeling. The impress of the divine nature 
is, as it were, fresh on the infant spirit—fresh and 
unsullied by contact with this withering world. 
One of high authority has said that ‘ Heaven lies 
about us in our infancyand another, infinitely 
greater, has assured us that ^ of such is the king¬ 
dom of heaven.’ Should we not therefore tremble, 
lest an impure breath should dim the clearness of 
the bright mirror of the childish mind, or lest, by 
wrong example, we may mislead him from the path 
of truth ? The truth, Clara, is not merely a literal 
representation, it is that which does not deceive; 
and in early childhood it is much more easy to 
teach a child not to deceive than to tell the truth; 
therefore we must be particularly careful to act the 
truth before a child, as well as to train him to tell, 
on all occasions, not only the literal truth, but also 
teach him how to do it.” 

We might, perhaps, weary our readers, if we were 
farther to relate tlie conversation between Mrs. Pres¬ 
ton and her niece, which was continued to some 
extent. We therefore return to our story. Mrs. 
Ainslie, ignorant of all that had passed in the in¬ 
terval since she had charged her innocent servant- 
girl with the abduction of the flowers and the other 


424 


MARGARET GORDON, 


missing articles, at last consented, at her aunt^s 
urgent request, to ride out to the cottage and ex¬ 
plain her mistake. She was, as we have before 
told our readers, far from being a person who 
would willingly injure another; and although un¬ 
bounded prosperity, and the selfishness always con¬ 
sequent upon it, prevented her from entering into 
the feelings or appreciating the trials of those who, 
in the social scale, were lower than herself, she 
did feel great regret at having charged the loss 
upon the guiltless, and, what made it worse, on one 
who had only so lately served her so faithfully. 

will go this very afternoon. Aunt Fanny,’’ 
said she, ^^and explain the mistake; but I dare say 
Margaret has forgotten the whole affair long ago 
and has found another place, although I did not 
give her a character.” 

Great as had been the sorrow and serious the in¬ 
jury produced by the inconsiderate hastiness of Mrs. 
Ainslie, the Gordons were of too truly a Christian 
spirit to think of calling for retribution on her head. 
Yet it did come to a certain extent, for our errors 
seldom pass, even in this life, without a pang of 
punishment and remorse. Ordering her carriage, 
she rode out to the cottage in the afternoon of the 
day on which the missing articles were found. 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


425 


Mary, who was at work in the garden, saw and 
recognized her as slie passed through the gate that 
led from the road; greatly alarmed, and appre¬ 
hending some new trouble, she rushed thoughtlessly 
into the presence of her mother, exclaiming: 

Oh, mother, there is Mrs. Ainslie ! what shall 
we do if she has come on such an errand as the 
lastr 

“Trust in God, Mary; that is all we can do,’^ 
she replied, as she clasped her hands over her heart, 
and, like One who had once a heavier burden to 
bear, that heart poured forth a speechless supplica¬ 
tion—“ Father, let this cup pass 

When Mrs. Ainslie entered the house, she found 
Alice sitting by the fireside, with Mrs. Upton and 
Aunt Hannah bearing her company/ Margaret 
had passed a-restless night, and was now sleeping, 
if the dreamy stupour caused by exhaustion can be 
called sleep. We have told our readers of the in¬ 
terest Margaret, after her first reluctance was con¬ 
quered, had taken in her class of coloured girls in 
the Sunday-school at E. Church, and how faith¬ 
fully and prayerfully she had tried to perform her 
duty as a teacher. Her efforts had been blessed. 
Two of them had professed themselves Christians 
and maintained a consistent walk; and one, per- 


426 


MARGARET GORDON, 


haps the wildest and least promising of the class, 
who had died of a lingering illness shortly before, 
departed in great peace. Through a friend she had 
sent a message, thanking Margaret for the instruc¬ 
tion she had given her, and declaring that it was to 
her efforts and faithful teaching that she had been 
awakened to a knowledge of the truth as it is in 
Christ Jesus, and the enjoyment of that peace which 
is its consequence, making the believer to rejoice in 
the prospect of deliverance from this body of sin 
and death;’’ of being made like unto Jesus, and re¬ 
moving all fear of death and all terror of eternity, 
which to the natural heart are so fearful. 

Joy that comes unlooked for is thrice welcome, 
and this message coming at this time fell like heal¬ 
ing balm upon her soul, and brought the SAveetest 
soothing. But the excitement caused by the tran¬ 
sition from the despondence Avhich had taken such 
deep hold upon her to the hope, nay the assurance 
it gave that her life had not been unacceptable to 
God, proved too much for the Aveakened body and 
distanced sleep. But at length it came, and a kind 
of insensibility stole over her, and, incapable of ex¬ 
ertion, she was lying in a half-dreaming state Avhen 
Mrs. Ainslie entered. The embarrassment that 
lady naturally felt Avas much lessened by the pres- 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


427 


ence of Mrs. Upton, whom she had met on several 
occasions, and the slight acquaintance was of great 
use on the present occasion. The conversation 
for a few minutes was nevertheless somewhat con¬ 
strained, although it related only to indifierent sub¬ 
jects ; but it was soon broken by the unwelcome 
visitor. 

Oh, by the by, Mrs. Gordon, those flowers 
said Mrs. Ainslie, in a manner which, always gen¬ 
tle, she meant to be more insinuating than usual. 

How sorry I am for what happened about those 
unlucky flowers and that foolish jewelry ! Where 
do you think they were found, after all ?’’ and then 
proceeded to relate what is already known to 
the reader. Who,^^ she continued, would ever 
have imagined that Gracie would have remembered 
anything about tying the flowers on the bushes, or 
that crows were such thieves? But Mr. Ainslie 
says he wonders that we did not suspect the crow, 
for that all of the raven tribe are great thieves and 
very fond of glittering objects. And now, where is 
Margaret? Is she at home, or has she taken a 
new service? I should like to see her, for I have 
come to say that I am very sorry for my inconsid¬ 
erate haste, and hope that she has forgotten it and 
that now all will be over.’’ 


428 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Alice Gordon rose from her seat with the quiet 
dignity that usually characterized her. 

‘^Margaret hhs not taken a new service, Mrs. 
Ainslie/’ said she, ^^and you can see her;” and 
taking the hand of the unresisting visitor, now be¬ 
ginning to be bewildered as she noticed the serious 
faces of those around her—those who regarded her 
more in sorrow than in anger—led her into the ad¬ 
joining room, where Margaret lay, pale and only 
half conscious. Her breathing alone told that life 
was present. Was death to be expected ? Was it 
near ? 

Plow long has she been ill ?” she at last ven¬ 
tured to ask, and was astonished to hear that it was 
of several weeks’ duration—almost ever since the 
time ^\dlen she had been here last. 

‘‘ She tried to find a new place,” added Aunt 
Hannah, as she found that Alice could say no more; 

but as she had no recommendation from you, and 
it seems that suspicions of her honesty had got 
abroad, she could not obtain a situation, and, fear¬ 
ing that her reputation was injured for ever, she 
lost heart altogether and has been ill ever since. 
God only knows how this sad affair is to end.” 

Mrs. Ainslie, although she had been devoted to 
the service of the world, was by nature kind and 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


429 


feeling. Selfishness, the fruit of long prosperity 
and indulgence of every good that wealth can pro¬ 
cure, had encrusted but not entirely obliterated the 
finer principles of her nature; and now a sense of 
the consequences of her own wrong-doing flashed 
painfully over her soul, and uttering the only words 
she was able to speak—Forgive me, forgive me ! 
I did not intend it!’’—she pressed the hand of Mrs. 
Gordon, and hastily departed from the house. 

And now, dear reader, among the many wise 
counsels given by one whose words were those of 
inspiration, there is none which deserves greater 
regard than that which bids, Keep thy heart with 
all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life.” 
Its importance, however, is too seldom perceived by 
the generality of persons, because they are apt to 
consider, like Mrs. Ainslie—and it is a dangerous 
plan of morality—the regulation of external con¬ 
duct as the chief object of religion, and if they 
act their part with decency, maintain a fair charac¬ 
ter and do not injure any one grossly, they conceive 
their duty to be fulfilled. But it is from the heart, 
out of which are the issues of life,” there rise the 
great springs of human conduct, whence the main 
currents flow of our virtue or our vice, of our hap¬ 
piness or our misery. Nature had given Mrs. 


430 


MARGARET GORDON, 


Ainsliea good disposition, but too. much prosperity 
had injured her. Contented in the enjoyment of 
the ‘‘beggarly elements’^ of this world, to which she 
was in bondage, she had forgotten God, and lost 
sight of the Supreme Giver in the multitude of the 
gifts bestowed and the blessings which from child¬ 
hood had been hers. But now, for the first time in 
her life, she felt the pangs of self-reproach. She 
believed that Margaret would die, blamed herself 
for the inconsiderate rashness which had occasioned 
this lamentable issue, and not only felt that she 
had been guilty in the sight of God of gross selfish¬ 
ness and neglect—always serious offences in the 
sight of Him who cannot behold sin without abhor¬ 
rence—but was also sensible of a painful conviction 
that by her hasty accusation she had so deeply 
injured one to whom for her faithful services she 
was deeply indebted, that reparation could hardly 
be made, although forgiveness might be asked 
and granted. As she rode home in her ele¬ 
gant carriage, with coachman, horses and all the 
equipments necessary for the display of earthly 
splendour, the mental cogitations of the often- 
envied possessor of this seeming good were by no 
means desirable. She was unhappy, far beyond 
any unhappiness or discomfort she had ever known ; 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


431 


and yet to her the short space of time in which she 
accomplished the journey from the humble cottage 
of the Gordons to her luxurious home were mo¬ 
ments fraught with importance—the greatest import¬ 
ance of which man can conceive—in wdiich know¬ 
ledge of self is granted, and by the still small 
voiceGod sends such warnings as now reminded 
this child of prosperity that she, too, Avas a sinner 
in the sight of God. And what a mercy for us 
that it is that by any means God condescends to 
open the eyes of our understanding so that w^e 
can see ourselves as we really are, and discern that 
in his sight no one is good! 

It was a great comfort, on her return home, that 
she could tell all to Mrs. Preston, which she did 
with many tears. Margaret is young,^’ said her 
aunt; ^Gier strength may rally, and she may re¬ 
cover. But whether she does or not, Ave know that 
God does all things aatII, and it is our duty to sub¬ 
mit to his unerring aauII Avithout a murmur.” 

If she should not get Avell, I can never be 
happy again,” said Mrs. Ainslie. Only to think 
of those foolish floAvers causing all this trouble! I 
am sure I never could have believed that anything 
so dreadful could have arisen from such a trifling 
thing. And to think of Grade taking so much 


432 


MARGARET GORDON, 


notice and playing such a naughty trick.’’ And 
she continued to lament the event of the party, 
which, instead 'of affording the triumph she ex¬ 
pected, had brought only the sad consequence she 
was now deploring; and declared that if IMargaret 
was to die it would be impossible for her ever to 
have a happy moment again. 

‘‘I am sure I sympathize in your present 
trouble,” said Mrs. Preston, but everything comes 
by God’s permission—nothing befals us without 
his knowledge; and this trouble may have been 
sent in mercy, as a warning to withdraw from 
frivolous pursuits and recal your attention to ob¬ 
jects of real importance. God often permits us to 
see and suffer from the consequences of our actions, 
in order to make us fearful of doing the slightest 
thing that is wrong. When Ave have once experi¬ 
enced, as you are now doing, all the evils that a 
hasty word or a selfish accusation may bring upon 
ourselves or others, Ave shall learn how carefully we 
ought to walk through life, avoiding, as the Bible 
says, even the appearance of evil.” 

It is very difficult. Aunt Fanny, to find out 
Avhat is right,” said Mrs. Ainslie. “ I am sure I 
had no Avish to injure Margaret, and any one who 
saw Avhat I did Avould have suspected her of having 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


433 


taken the lost flowers. And, after all, only that 
the poor girl is so ill, my fault in making the paper 
flowers, which it seems is the cause of all this 
trouble, is a very little one.” 

Yet, look at the consequences, Clara. Vanity, 
selfishness and neglect of duty are always serious 
offences in the sight of God, and these were all 
combined in that one little act. You may have 
acted in the same manner on other occasions, but 
as no serious consequences ensued, you gave no 
thought as to whether such emotions were or were 
not sinful, but you were equally guilty in the sight 
of Him who is of purer eyes than to behold sin 
without abhorrence, although no one may have 
known what was in your heart but yourself.” 

Every one is selfish,” said Mrs. Ainslie, ^^and 
you will find but few who do not neglect duty at 
times. And vanity — I never thought it was so 
very wicked to be a little vain; that is, Aunt 
Fanny, if you consider the wish to have my party 
in superior style was vanity or deceit.” 

Every one, Clara,” said Mrs. Preston, is more 
or less naturally selfish and prone to daily beset- 
ments from sin, which, born in us, are original 
parts of the constitution of our nature, and we are 
sent into the world to conquer that nature, and by 


28 


434 


MABGAEET GORDON, 


the aid of grace in answer to prayer many are en¬ 
abled to do so. You may think that love of the 
world, selfishness and vanity are trivial emotions, 
but nothing that introduces disorder into the heart 
ought to be accounted trivial, since it is the little 
sins which are the most dangerous, because, seem¬ 
ingly of no importance at first, they steal insensibly 
upon the heart. What was at first indulged in as 
innocent amusement may at last become a serious 
business, and, in the end, prove the burden of your 
life. The beginnings of these small faults of our 
nature are most treacherous; their growth is im¬ 
perceptible, until they at length advance into emo¬ 
tions which, when their dominion is established, 
are likely to pierce the heart with many sorrows. 
What the wise king said of one of them holds true 
of all, ‘ That their beginning is as one that letteth out 
waterJ It at first issues from a small chink, which 
might have been easily stopped, but, being ne¬ 
glected, it is soon widened by the stream, until the 
bank is at last totally thrown down, and the flood 
is at liberty to deluge the whole plain.” 

Mrs. Ainslie could not find words to reply, and 
Mrs. Preston continued: 

Bear with me, Clara, while I say a few words 
more; not in the way of reproach—for your own 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


435 


heart is busy enough with that now—but on ac¬ 
count of the love I bear to you and yours. You 
see, in this affair, so seemingly trifling at first, the 
great effect your words and example have upon 
your children—immortal beings, committed by God 
to your care, to be brought up for him. Grace fol¬ 
lowed your example in wishing to impose on her 
young companions by having ^make-believes’—only 
another word for deception. To accomplish this 
she had to steal your flowers. She is indeed but a 
child, nevertheless she knew that she was doing 
wrong, or she would not have bribed her little 
brother with candy ^ not to tell.’ Some might re¬ 
gard it as a childish frolic, and laugh at the whole 
affair, but is it not a striking and serious commen¬ 
tary on the subject upon which we have been speak¬ 
ing ? For only see to how many evils that one 
trifling but wrong act has led; and I hope that you 
will now see the infinite importance of subduing 
early what are called trifling faults—a little vanity, 
or a little selfishness, or a little hastiness of temper 
—in your children. If you can be convinced how 
much happier they would be by an education which 
would fit them for the service of God rather than 
that of the world, and train them accordingly, they 
would grow up in confirmed habits of goodness, 


436 


MARGARET GORDON, 


which, by the blessing of God, would never leave 
them, however tliey might be tempted in after life, 
but, taught by the rules of truth, on whom to de¬ 
pend, would constantly be kept in the right way/’ 
Mrs. Ainslie felt that her aunt was right, and 
promised that she would think of all that she said, 
and practice upon it, but at the same time begged 
that she would go to see Margaret aud assure her¬ 
self that she wanted for nothing. Anything I can 
send or do for the poor girl may be freely offered, 
for I cannot do too much.” Mrs. Preston prom¬ 
ised that she would see her on the following day, 
when she could judge better of her real condition, 
and then kissing her affectionately, left her, with a 
hope that the effects of the conversation might be 
lasting. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

"WHAT IS MY DUTY? CAN I FORGIVE?" 

AVRS. PRESTON* was as good as her word, and 
J 11 in a day or two after the conversation record- 
^' ed in our last chapter, she rode out to the 
cottage, where, much to her disappointment, she 
found Margaret more ill than she expected. Hoping 
that a knowledge of Mrs. Ainslie’s visit and expla¬ 
nation of matters would benefit her, her friends had 
incautiously told her of it; and as it is said that 
joy is harder to bear than sorrow, when the press¬ 
ure of her great grief was removed the excitement 
caused by the reaction which ensued on hearing the 
tidings was more than her weakened frame could 
bear. A slight relapse was the consequence, and at 
the time of Mrs. Preston’s visit she was lying quiet, 
almost in a torpid state, from the effects of an opiate 
which it had been thought necessary to give. She, 
however, partially recognized Mrs. Preston, but the 
recollection seemed to be painful, for she asked, in a 

437 



438 


MARGARET GORDON, 


frightened voice, who was there? was there any 
new trouble? and fell back on her pillow. 

Mrs. Preston had no cheerful news to carry back 
with her, and therefore Mrs. Ainslie’s uneasiness 
was rather increased than removed. A second visit, 
however, showed a rapid amendment, which con¬ 
tinued for a few days, and then gav^ way to a lan¬ 
guor which prevented the return of strength. The 
joy of knowing that her good name was cleared 
from all suspicion had at first proved better than 
medicine in restoring her to health; but, as she grew 
accustomed to the knowledge, the unwelcome con¬ 
sideration of the debt, the payment of which was 
not only delayed by this long sickness, but to it 
was added another burden—namely, the expense 
always unavoidable in sickness—was brooded over 
with a morbid apprehension, and, resting with a 
constant weight upon her heart, prevented the re¬ 
turn of the strength now more needful than ever to 
meet the family wants. All seemed very dark; but 
trouble had long been familiar with her, and had 
taught her its own best lesson—that mind can in 
degree rule itself even as it does the body. And 
besides this, she had the faith which had been 
taught her in early childhood, and although in her 
M^eak state her morbid fancy painted the probability 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


439 


of their having to give up their home, she recalled 
the providences of her past life, and trusted that He 
who had brought them through so many trials 
would not forsake them now. In this faith, too, 
she was encouraged by her mother, to whom she 
told her fears and who shared all her anxieties. 
Work had been scarce, and the want of employment 
told painfully on the family purse, but Alice had 
learned to trust implicitly and to recognize the 
good hand of God in every dispensation. Those 
three words, God is love,’^ were to her words full 
of meaning, and when Margaret would express, 
often with tears, her anxieties and fears for the fu¬ 
ture, she would say, ‘^All will be right; we must 
not grieve, for God, who knows all things, also does 
all things well.” And then when Margaret looked 
into her mother’s face as she uttered those same 
words which she had often heard from her father, 
she would be reassured, for that face, pale and 
wasted, yet calm as a summer sea,” was a living 
comment on the truth of the promise, for it showed 
that to her had been vouchsafed that peace which 
passeth all understanding,” and is the Christian’s 
privilege to enjoy. 

But the debt must be paid. John Brown was by 
no means a rich man, and there are limits to forr 


440 


MARGARET GORDON, 


bearance. He had never mentioned the subject 
except when Margaret had paid the small instal¬ 
ments her wages allowed, and that did not lessen 
her sense of obligation. The Bible says, Owe no 
man anything f and now, with an increased bur¬ 
den of debt, caused by long sickness and want of 
employment, with a horror of being in debt which 
there was no prospect of paying, she resolved to 
tell her difficulties to her kind neighbour, and ask 
him whether it would not be best to sell the cottage 
and go to seek a living elsewhere. 

Not at all, not at all,’^ said he; stay where 
you are. Better days will come. I am not so poor 
but that I can afford to wait. You did not borrow 
this money for your own pleasure, but only accepted 
the loan I offered so that you could keep the home 
for your mother and the blind boy. It is an en¬ 
tirely different case from that of one who is ready 
to borrow money without prospect or intention 
of returning it. But I know that you and your 
mother are none of that kind, so just let the matter 
rest where it is; something will turn up, for the 
sky is not always dark, and God is always good.^' 

But, Uncle John, you may never get it back. 
I am by no means well, and might fall sick again. 
Mother is growing old and cannot work much, even 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


441 


if she got sewing to do; and poor Robert—all they 
can do hardly keeps the wolf from the door. All 
depends on me, and if I should not get a good place, 
or if I should become disabled or get sick again, 
you might never be repaid.” 

Yes, I should,” said John Brown; “for I have 
read that even the giving of a cup of cold water to 
one of God’s ^ little ones’ does not go unrewarded, 
and ‘ inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of these, 
ye have done it unto me.’ I am ready to trust on 
this assurance, and am never afraid of losing any¬ 
thing I lend in this way. So keep a good heart; 
your mother shall never leave her home while I 
live.” 

This kind assurance soothed her somewhat, but 
still that debt was there, and she would never feel 
quite easy until it was paid, as well as the other 
expenses made during her long inability to work. 
A most distressing languor still oppressed her and 
made all thoughts of exertion painful. She was 
not one, however, to remain long idle when there 
was so much for her to do. The perception of the 
claims of definite duty came strongly before her, 
and rousing herself from the dreamy maze into 
which she had fallen, she resolved to face life in 
its sternest aspect, and go forth boldly once more 


442 


MARGARET GORDON, 


and seek employment in the service of others. She 
shrank, however, from undertaking the place of 
nursery-maid when she recalled her trials in Mrs. 
Ainslie’s nursery. Her experience there made her 
reluctant to enter another household of strangers, 
but what else could she do? Her inclination still 
turned toward a school, but there was no place 
open for which she could apply; and it was with a 
feeling of sadness that she was obliged to determine 
on seeking a service, since there was no alternative. 
It was the only way by which the weight of the 
burden now resting on the family could be light¬ 
ened, and she was the one whose duty it was to do¬ 
it. Yet where was she to find such a place as she 
sought? Mrs. Ainslie, had, indeed, acknowledged 
her innocence, but when wdiispers to the injury of 
any one’s character have once gone abroad, it is no 
easy matter to silence them, and her morbid fancy 
pictured the worst in reference to the lost flowers 
and other missing articles that could be imagined. 
Mrs. Ainslie would no doubt now give her a re¬ 
commendation, but her native pride rebelled at the 
idea of asking a favour of her; and she had nearly 
made up her mind to serve with a farmer’s wife 
who she had heard wanted help, although her 
work there would be of the roughest kind, rather 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


443 


than go back to B-. A^hether this feeling was 

or was not right is not for us to say; it was, how¬ 
ever, a natural one, and Margaret, although good, 
was not perfect—grace had not yet entirely over¬ 
come nature. 

She was scarcely yet able to undertake the rough 
'work of farm-life, and so she waited day after day, 
making plan after plan, which after all came to 
nothing, until she had resolved to give a definite 
answer to the farmer’s wife and begin the hard 
service on the following week. She would do her 
best to give satisfaction to her employers, doing 
each day’s duty as it came, for, believing, as she 
did, that nothing earthly comes by chance, she was 
assured that ^‘strength according to the day” would 
be given. 

But there were other things in store for her. 
The heart of man deviseth his way, but his steps 
are directed by Him whose merciful and tender 
hand, kindly keeping the next day’s page safely 
folded down,” bids the believer trust that the mor¬ 
row shall be filled with mercy even as to-day. 
Her plan of going to the farmer’s wife was suddenly 
altered and in the most unexpected manner. As 
she sat alone one afternoon, when her mother and 
Mary had gone abroad on some business, she was 



444 


MARGARET GORDON, 


startled by a visit from Mrs. Ainslie and her aunt. 
The meeting was an awkward one for both parties. 
The first usual salutation being over, a rather em¬ 
barrassing silence succeeded, which was at last 
broken by Mrs. Preston. 

Margaret,’^ said she, “ you are surprised to see 
us here, but you will be more so when you hear 
that we have come to ask a favour. Mrs. Ainslie 
wishes, nay, is most anxious, that you should come 
and live in her family again. Louisa is ill; she 
has never fully recovered from the last summer’s 
fever, and she is fretting continually for your re¬ 
turn. My niece is sincerely sorry for the wrong 
you have suffered, and not only asks forgiveness, 
but is willing to make every reparation within her 
power.” 

Yes, Margaret,” said Mrs. Ainslie, I could 
not have ventured to ask this favour did I not be¬ 
lieve that you were all that your conduct while in 
my family bore witness to—a Christian—and on 
account’ of Louisa, who has never ceased begging 
for your return. I know how much you loved 
her, and that knowledge, Margaret, has brought 
me here.” 

Surprise prevented Margaret from immediately 
replying. What change had come over the rich 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


445 


and haughty lady to come thus and ask pardon of 
a servant, one of a class whom she had hitherto re¬ 
garded as belonging to a separate race? Had grace, 
that mighty agent which effects such wonderful 
changes in the hearts of men, been at work in that 
W’orldly heart, and aw^akening conscience to a re¬ 
cognition of new motives and new claims, such as 
constitute the Christian’s rule of life? She, there¬ 
fore, did not at once answer, for she had a battle to 
fight W'ith herself. We have told our readers of 
her quick temper and naturally proud spirit, and 
what it cost her to subdue them; but perhaps 
never did the law of sin” contend more fiercely 
with the law of the mind” than at present. A 
feeling of triumph, by no means in accordance with 
the spirit inculcated by the Saviour, which teaches 
of forgiveness of injury and patient endurance of 
wrong, shot through her heart and prompted a 
haughty refusal to the request. But before the 
words—far better left unspoken—which were trem¬ 
bling on her lips could issue forth, the still, small 
voice of conscience,” that faithful delegate of an 
invisible Ruler, made itself heard. Host thou 
well to be angry?” it whispered, and the commo¬ 
tion in her mind was at once subdued. Instead of 
Mie sharp reply she was about to utter, she mildly 


446 


MARGARET GORDON, 


replied that she could not give an immediate an¬ 
swer, as there was another prospect in view, and 
her mother, without whose advice she never acted, 
must be consulted. AVith this conclusion they 
were obliged to be satisfied, and departed with the 
promise that word should be sent in a few days as 
to the decision. 

Margaret^s mind was now in a most unsettled 
state; she felt dissatisfied with herself, and longed 
for her mother’s return, that she might tell her of 
all—Mrs. Ainslie’s request and her own discom¬ 
posure. Alice was much surprised, but she listened 
calmly, and made no other remark than to say: 

AVho hath known the mind of the Lord ? How 
great is his wisdom and knowledge; how unspeak¬ 
able are his judgments, and his ways past finding 
out.” 

Mary and Robert protested violently against 
Margaret’s accepting Mrs. Ainslie’s offer; the for¬ 
mer declaring that it would be better to submit to 
any privation than to demean herself by going back, 
and adding that she did not see how she could ever 
forgive her. 

“It did seem at first as if I could not forgive’; 
but now—” She was interrupted by a voice, which 
inquired: 


OB CAN I FORGIVEf 


447 


What is this offence that is too great to be for¬ 
given ? or who is the transgressor whose sin does 
not come within the compass of the ‘ seventy times 
seven ?’ ” 

It was Mr. Upton who spoke. He had over¬ 
heard the last words as he was about to enter the 
room, and his presence was hailed almost as a prov¬ 
idence at this particular time. The late occurrence 
was told him. Margaret confessed the scruples she 
had of accepting the offer of Mrs. Ainslie, because 
of some bitter feelings which still rankled in her 
heart. She feared that on that account she would 
perhaps not be able to do her duty properly. But 
Louisa—she loved Louisa, and she, Mrs. Preston 
had told her when Mrs. Ainslie was not near, was 
hopelessly ill. 

Oh, tell me, Mr. Upton, what is my duty ? 
What ought I to do 

Follow the rule of Scripture, Margaret, no 
matter what it costs you, and leave the issue with 
God, for shall not the Judge of all the earth do 
right? I admit your grievance is a great one, and 
a hard one to get over. But to ^err is human, to 
forgive divine;’ and if we practice on the Scripture 
rule, we will ^ write injuries in sand,’ from which 
they will soon be effaced. There is no one,” he 


448 


MARGARET GORDON, 


continued, who is not prone to err. Mrs. Ainslie^s 
accusation was rash and inconsiderate, and she did 
not stop to think how great was the injury she was 
doing; but now, that she has seen her error, and, 
bowing her pride, has asked for forgiveness and 
offered every reparation in her power, will you, 
Margaret, a professing Christian, do less than a 
votary of the world and say, ^ I cannot forgive ?’ 
There is no limit to Christian forbearance. ‘ Father, 
forgive them, they know not what they do!’ was 
the language of the Saviour when he drank the 
bitter cup for those whom he came to save; and re¬ 
member, too, that ^ if ye forgive not men their tres¬ 
passes,’ the Scripture tells us ^neither will your 
heavenly Father forgive you.’ And not only this,” 
he added, ^Hhere is joy in forgiving, for we are also 
told that the angels in heaven rejoice over the re¬ 
pentant sinner. Do you say you. cannot forgive? 
Eemember what the apostle said when he spoke of 
his privations and afflictions: ^ I can do all things 
through Christ which strengtheneth me;’ and if you 
will apply at the same source, you will receive the 
aid you need.” 

Margaret recalled the time when her father spoke 
the same words—a time when in her childish anger 
she declared that she would never forgive Kitty 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


449 


Green—and from the sacred recollection they came 
with double force. Her better feelings returned, 
and she said, 

It is right; I will go back to Mrs. Ainslie if 
mother says so.’^ 

I do say so, Margaret,replied Mrs. Gordon. 

I waited because I wished you to decide from 
your own conviction of what is duty rather than 
from my opinion. I am always satisfied with a 
course which is based on Scripture rules. Yours 
is in this instance one of such, and will, I trust, be 
sanctified by that blessing which alone maketh rich 
and addeth no sorrow.’^ 

There was nothing more to be done but to ask 
the prayer for guidance in this renewed undertak¬ 
ing—far more difficult under the present circum¬ 
stances than when nearly two years ago she had 
gone forth to test the untried future. Her heart 
was then cheered by hope—hope, the smiling com¬ 
forter of the young—but was now weighed down 
with feelings of reluctance and apprehension. But 
where is the pang that cannot be soothed by prayer? 
The pastor’s prayer was fervent an<l sincere. Their 
own supplications for aid and strength to pursue 
her new and difficult path in a proper spirit calmed 
down the turbulent emotions which pride and a sense 

29 


450 


MARGARET GORDON, 


of wrong had aroused, and she prepared as calmly 
for the painful undertaking as if no storm of suffer¬ 
ing had ever passed over her head. Nevertheless, 
when she found herself once more under Mrs. Ains- 
lie^s roof, a keen, sharp pang shot through her 
heart—a sting of many mingled feelings; affection 
for the gentle invalid, and vague, foreboding anxie¬ 
ties ; dread that her duties should not be properly 
fulfilled; but above all, a doubt of how in the fu¬ 
ture she would be looked upon on account of the 
suspicion which had rested upon her, and of which 
the consequences had been serious, filled her with 
alarm. But there was no drawing back now; no 
leisure to analyze these feelings; she had entered 
on the rough path, and must go on. 

All these unpleasant emotions were, however, 
at once removed by the welcome she received on 
entering the nursery, where everything looked just 
as when she first took her place there,’ except 
Louisa, who was more altered than she expected 
to find her. Wrapped in a large shawl, she was 
seated on her rocking-chair, as usual, near the 
window, looking listlessly out on the falling leaves, 
which the sharp autumn wind was driving about 
in many circling eddies; but when she saw Marga¬ 
ret she started up with the alacrity of one in perfect 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


451 


healtli, and, throwing her arms around her, ex¬ 
claimed : 

Oh, Maggie, how glad I am you have come ! 
I shall get well now, when you are here to read to 
me and tell me things out of the Bible and such 
pretty stories, just as you used to do. You won’t 
go away again—surely you will not?” 

Grace and Philip were in their accustomed cor¬ 
ner, playing with Jolly and Black Peter. The 
latter, notwithstanding his thieving propensity, 
had not been banished, but was still tolerated be¬ 
cause the children could not bear to part with him, 
he was such a favourite; and now they knew all 
his hiding-places so well they could recover any¬ 
thing he stole, and so his depredations did no 
harm.” Most gratifying to her were their noisy 
demonstrations of joy at her return. Even little 
Juliet had not forgotten her; she ran to her at 
once, put up her rosy mouth for a kiss, and as 
soon as she was seated climbed up into her lap, 
where she resolutely maintained her seat as a thing 
of right. How could Margaret help feeling happy 
as she witnessed this testimony of affection from 
the children ? The accomplishment of duty always 
brings its own reward, and the schoolmaster’s 
daughter had it. 


452 


MARGARET GORDON, 


We need not weary our readers with a detail of 
‘the life she was now living at Mrs. Ainslie’s, fur¬ 
ther than to say that her duties were much easier, 
for she had not now the sole task of attending to 
the children, as Susan, the girl who had taken her 
place, was still retained. It was her business to 
wait on Louisa and attend to the children’s lessons. 
She might do some other light tasks if she pleased, 
but such burdens as she had, formerly borne were 
now never imposed upon her, and every one ap¬ 
peared to have more regard for her comfort. 

She was there but a little while until she saw 
that a great change had come over Mrs. Ainslie— 
a change caused by the many experiences of life’s 
troubles within the last year, and of the inability 
of wealth to give exemption from them. That 
experience proved salutary. The sickness of the 
children had awakened an anxiety she had never 
knowm before. The mortifying remarks made on 
her expensive party, from which she had expected 
so much and gained so little, had reached her ears. 
The mistake she had made in regard to Margaret, 
which had awakened the deepest self-reproach, and 
now the declining health of Louisa, filled her heart 
with apprehension and sorrow. She knew nothing 
of the consolation which religion can give, and she 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


453 


yielded herself up to a despondence that was telling 
painfully on her health. 

She went out occasionally and received visitors, 
but there were no evening parties as before, and the 
rooms furnished wdth so much splendour, which, 
when filled with company and resounding with 
music and merriment, had been so gratifying to 
her love of show, now, solitary and deserted, 
presented a contrast of which she was painfully 
sensible. This was her first lesson of the changes 
of life, and it proved an efficient one. She 
could not bear to think that Louisa would die, 
although Dr. Harrison gave her little encourage¬ 
ment as to her recovery; and, as day after day 
passed without bringing any permanent amend¬ 
ment, she felt how insufficient was wealth to afford 
anything like real happiness. She possessed the 
means of gratifying every passing fancy, and she 
had used them for that purpose, but her riches and 
luxuries were powerless now; they could not re¬ 
store her child to health, and she was now without 
comfort, for she knew nothing of the consolation 
that prayer brings, and which it is the privilege 
of all to seek. 

Her gay friends noticed that she was changed, 
but said that she need not get so mopey because 


454 


MARGARET GORDON, 


lioulsa was not well—she would* be bright enough 
when winter was over; but finding that when 
Louisa for a time seemed better her seriousness 
did not abate, they ridiculed her and said she was 
turning Methodist. To such remarks she turned 
a deaf ear, and occupied herself with her children, 
spending much time in the nursery—a thing she 
had not done before. 

Louisa, for a few weeks, did seem brighter and 
better; and when the welcome Christmas-time 
came, and the well-laden tree was lighted, and the 
23arlour was once more filled with young and happy 
faces, and Christmas-gifts were given and received, 
she was able to go down stairs and mingle among 
them as formerly. But the amusements differed 
greatly from those of last year. They were of a 
soberer, quieter kind, and far more fitting for chil¬ 
dren than the disjday made at that gay time. The 
gentle invalid enjoyed the evening, and when it 
was over and she went uj) stairs, she said. 

Oh, Maggie! do you remember this time last 
year? I could not say my prayers, as I wanted 
to, my head was so full of the pretty dresses and 
dancing, in which I wished so much to join; and 
don’t you remember how much I wanted to have 
diamonds? But I am glad now that I did not 


OB CAN I FORGIVE f 


455 


learn to dance, and I have found out that there are 
things far better than diamonds/’ 

The spring came, and its bland and beautiful 
influence, the brightness of its mornings and gay 
sunshine of mid-day, brought satisfaction to the 
heart of the invalid, but no improvement to her 
health. She was to be parted from those who so 
dearly loved her. The mandate from which there 
is no appeal had gone forth—the decree, to all 
human knowledge, absolute, irreversible, had been 
passed. God, perhaps in mercy to the parents, was 
about to take the beloved child from them; it 
might be in a few weeks, it might be in a few 
months, but the next Christmas would pass with¬ 
out the simple celebration of the last, for Louisa 
would not be among them. 

We have said but little of Mr. Ainslie. He 
was, like many others, so wholly immersed in 
business that he took no time to think of anything 
else. He was proud of his family, and, possessed 
of great wealth, allowed them extreme gratification 
In everything that the world calls good. He was 
liberal and kind-hearted, and Louisa was his es¬ 
pecial favourite. He had been uneasy about her, 
but could not think that she would die until once 
that he looked at her when she had fallen asleep, 


456 MARGARET GORDON, 

and then he felt as if he would have sacrificed all 
his wealth to restore his child to health; but, 
earth-bound as he still was, he could not imagine 
that God, in the mercy which was leading her to 
death, was also leading her parents to heaven. In 
the intoxication of his earthly splendour he had 
taken no time to think, but now the misty memo¬ 
ries of half-forgotten offences, the carelessness of 
his youth, the coldness and insensibility of his ad¬ 
vancing age, all marked by positive offences, min¬ 
gled into one mass; and then, in the presence of 
the dread monitor whose voice none may silence, 
he wished that he had cared less for earth and 
thought more of lieaven. 

The summer passed without improving Louisa’s 
health, and the still-hoping parents looked forward 
to passing the next winter in the South, and were 
making suitable arrangements for the journey. 
The influence of a warm climate often accomplish¬ 
ed wonderful changes in such cases, and nothing 
should be left untried. This, however, was not to 
be; she declined daily, and, knowing that she could 
not live, spoke freely to Margaret. 

Oh, Maggie,” she often said, how glad I am 
that you came back, for it is you who have taught 
me how to pray and how to love the Saviour, whom 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


457 


I had never heard about until you told me. But 
do you think that I will die 

Margaret, startled by such a solemn question, 
would at first be at a loss how to reply, but at 
length would find words : 

If it is God^s will, dear Miss Louisa, that you 
should die, he will take you to heaven, where you 
will be happy, for you will live with him and 
the blessed Saviour and the holy angels. You 
need not be afraid if you lean upon the Saviour, 
for he conquered death and robbed him of his 
sting.’’ 

I do not think, Maggie, I should, if you would 
all go with me. But why does God, who you say 
is so good, give me so much pain ?” 

He sends you the pain because he sees best to 
do so and because he loves you so much. You 
will try and be patient. He will give you strength 
to bear it, and will watch over you and love you 
far more than any of us here can do; and if it is 
his will to call you away from us, you will be so 
happy, so very happy, you will never wdsh to re¬ 
turn.” 

Sadly and wearily the days passed on until the 
summer faded into autumn, and the soft October 
sun came broadly down on the tall elms which 


458 


MARGARET GORDON, 


shaded the mansion, flushing into brighter tints 
the brown and yellow leaves which yet lingered on 
their fast-thinning branches, and, shining through 
the crimson maples, lighted up into coral-like bril¬ 
liance their red berries; but no great change 
marked the progress of disease in Louisa. 

Dr. Harrison did not flatter, but friends related 
wonderful recoveries, and the parents, with the 
delusion so natural in such cases, believed that re¬ 
moval to a warmer climate would, if it did not 
cure, at least retard the progress of disease; and so 
all was settled and arranged for a journey to the 
South. Thus they were deceiving themselves, as 
so many do, looking * forward to months, while 
Mrs. Preston and Margaret could not hope for 
weeks. But neither of them had courage to en¬ 
deavour to remove the deceitful hope cherished by 
Mrs. Ainslie, for they felt it was almost better 
than the despairing certainly which would have 
rendered her incapable of performing her labour 
of love to her dying child. Mrs. Preston knew 
every symptom of the insidious complaint, and 
watched from day to day, with a heavy heart, the 
progress of the disease, which, by trifling varia¬ 
tions and imperceptible changes, too surely bore 
the mandate of approaching death. 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


459 


We need not linger over the last hours of 
the dying, or paint the grief of the parents 
when they became convinced that hope could no 
longer be cherished. Gloom reigned over the 
household, where everything had fallen into the 
habits natural to anxiety and nursing. A. dreary 
calmness brooded everywhere; silence fell like the 
shadow of death upon the empty halls and deserted 
jxarlours; laughter sank into a smile, and all duties 
were regulated by those who were required in the 
sick-room. Louisa sank very gradually, appearing 
each day to become more deeply sensible of her ob¬ 
ligations to her Kedeemer and more sweetly confi¬ 
dent of his love and power. His grace supported 
her, and his promises and presence cheered her 
and gave her the victory in the final struggle. 

Great was the grief of her parents when she was 
removed out of their sight for ever. It was a grief 
which needs no description, since so many have ex¬ 
perienced the same. Yet the grief for the dead is 
one from which we do not seek to be divorced; we 
would rather cherish it than part from it. It is 
dearer than happiness, more precious than joy, since 
it is instinct with the hopes of immortality. The 
loss of this darling daughter seemed to be made a 
blessing to the mourning parents. Their lives 


4G0 


MARGARET OORDOE, 


until now had been one continued stream of pros¬ 
perity, and they had thought little of the great 
responsibilities which belong to life, and to which 
they were for the first time awakened by the blow 
of death. The warning was not given in vain. 
They began to recognize that it was not all of life 
to live,’’ and, instead of being lovers of the world 
only, by the blessing of God their affections became 
detached from earth and their hopes fixed on a bet¬ 
ter world, where there shall be no sorrow, nor 
sighing, nor death.” 

^yas Margaret’s course of service in the Ainslie 
family now to be ended ? She believed it was, and 
began to think of seeking another place. But this 
was not to be. Mrs. Ainslie, partially recovering 
from the apathy into which she had fallen, begged 
that she would not leave, but remain and take 
charge of the three younger children, as formerly. 

I cannot spare you now, Margaret,” she said. 
“ You will be a comfort to me, and for Louisa’s 
sake you will not refuse.” 

The request, backed by such a plea, could not be 
refused, and she was not sorry that she had con¬ 
sented when she found how useful she was. The 
children had become a good deal spoiled whilst 
she had been away from them, and it cost her 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


461 


no small troujble to bring them back into proper 
bounds. 

A great change had come over Mrs. Alnslie; 
she had partly recovered her interest in every-day 
matters, but her nerves had been so much shaken 
that but little discernment was necessary to dis¬ 
cover how much she was altered. She would give 
the necessary orders for the house arrangements as 
usual, but, this task over, she would sit silent and 
abstracted for hours, having apparently no power 
or inclination to move. Every noise startled and 
every exertion was a trouble to her; her days were 
gloomy and her nights disturbed, and her health, as 
the winter advanced toward spring, became so seri¬ 
ously affected that the worst consequences were ap¬ 
prehended. The only thing that seemed to rouse 
and comfort her was the conversation of Mrs. Pres¬ 
ton, who came frequently; and when she was not 
present, sometimes talked to Margaret; one whom, 
a short time ago, she considered only a servant,’’ 
but now a comforter; for grief, like death, is a 
great leveller. 

Change of scene and climate. Dr. Harrison said, 
was absolutely necessary; and accordingly arrange¬ 
ments were made for going abroad in the spring. 
The house was to be shut up; Grace to be placed 


4G2 


MARGARET GORDON, 


under the charge of Mrs. Bond, a friend of Mrs. 
Preston’s, who was a person to whom they could 
safely confide Grace, whose mercurial temperament 
demanded a stricter rule than she could have at 
home. Mrs. Bond had long been an instructress 
of young girls, and her kindly and judicious disci¬ 
pline had procured for her a well-merited, deserved 
reputation. Philip and little Juliet were to go to 
Mrs. Preston’s, and nothing else was thought of 
but that Margaret should go with them—an ar¬ 
rangement which would have been highly pleasing 
to her, but for an unexpected interruption which 
occurred within a short time before their departure. 

The patrons of the school formerly taught by 
her father, finding Squire Green’s burly relative 
altogether incompetent, had become tired of- her 
and withdrew their patronage. Determined, too, 
not to submit any longer to the arbitrary rule im¬ 
posed by their wealthy neighbour because the 
school-house stood on his ground and he had sub¬ 
scribed somewhat largely to the building, they had 
collected money and built a new and more com¬ 
modious one for themselves, which, being completed 
about this time, the trustees offered the place of 
teacher to Margaret. 

How providential it seemed!—how happy she 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


463 


was! The very place she most, and had for so long, 
desired, and she acknowledged the goodness of 
God, who had sent her this, as she considered it, 
singular blessing ! Much as they regretted the loss 
of her services, Mr. and Mrs. Ainslie could offer 
no objection ; but how highly they had appreciated 
her services was evident at the time of their leave- 
taking. On the last evening of their remaining at 
home, Mr. Ainslie, after paying Margaret a liberal 
amount of wages, placed a small packet in her 
hand, and said: 

For dear Louisa’s sake, Margaret; you have 
deserved it, and more too.’’ 

Yes, Margaret,” added Mrs. Ainslie, ^^you 
have been a blessing in my house; you have shown 
me the beauty of the Christian character, as exem¬ 
plified in the patience, gentleness and forbearance 
you have shown ever since you came into my 
family; but, above all, the spirit of Christian for¬ 
giveness you exhibited when you consented to re¬ 
turn to my service, after such a grievance as you 
suffered from me, first induced me to believe there 
was sincerity in the religion which you professed, 
and awakened me to perceptions of that to which I 
had heretofore been blind.” 

Every one has a mission, Margaret, whether 


464 


MARGARET GORDON, 


he is rich or poor, servant or master,’^ said Mrs. 
Preston, ‘^and every one of those who do not dili¬ 
gently employ the one talent committed to their 
care are unworthy of being entrusted with more; 
for our Lord has said, ‘ for unto every one that 
hath shall be given, but from him that hath not 
shall be taken away even that which he hath.^ 
Faithfulness with regard to present duties is a fair 
test of our qualification for a loftier station. You 
have faithfully fulfilled the mission which is the 
duty of every nursery-maid who can appreciate 
and is desirous to fulfil the great purpose of our 
existence, and I trust you will find the reward 
promised to those who seek to please God in all 
things, ^ with good-will doing service as unto the 
Lord and not unto men,’ when the reckoning day 
comes, and will show that the least service in this 
way has not been unnoticed nor the promise for¬ 
gotten.” 

Margaret was now free; her task was done; she 
was no longer a servant; her walk in life was 
henceforth to be a different one, the duties of which 
were not less imperative. But she had profited by 
the discipline of trial experienced from childhood, 
and was prepared for the undertaking. She had 
taken the straightforward path in obedience to an 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


465 


outward call, and it had led her through' much 
trial to a peace which the world can neither give 
nor take away. She could not, in her Christian 
humility, see how important her sojourn in the 
Ainslie family had been, nor all that she had been 
permitted to do ; nor how—only a servant’’—by 
working in the place which God had appointed for 
her, she had influenced those who in worldly rank 
were so far above her for their good; but she had 
a sense of great happiness resting upon her, and felt 
that in the sacrifice she had made in returning to 
Mrs. Ainslie’s service she had nothing to regret. 

Entering on the duties of the school with a will¬ 
ing heart and humble spirit, she was as useful as 
she had been in the rich man’s family, and resum¬ 
ing her place in Sunday-school, encouraged by the 
unexpected issue of her early labours, she tried to ex¬ 
ercise a missionary spirit and win souls to Christ 
by honest teaching. 

How happy now was the schoolmaster’s family! 
Their cup seemed to overflow with blessings; light 
had taken the place of darkness; and fearful of 
being dazzled by the deceitful ray of prosperity, 
they prayed to be kept humble. The bounty of 
Mrs. Ainslie had made them independent; the debt 
was paid, the cottage was their own, and a sum 

30 


466 MARGARET GORDON, 

placed in the bank was ready for any future emer¬ 
gency. 

The patrons of the school were perfectly satisfied 
with her, and she was considered as being a perma¬ 
nent fixture, when, to their great surprise as well as 
her own, she received a most unexpected offer of a 
new situation. Mrs. Bond, the lady with whom 
Grace had been left during her mother’s absence, 
was in want of an assistant teacher—one who could 
teach the common branches and take charge of the 
younger girls. She applied to Mrs. Preston to as¬ 
sist her ill finding such a one as she wanted, and 
that lady at once recommended Margaret, and, as it 
was after Mrs. Ainslie’s return, she also added her 
influence. The offer was made at once and readily 
accepted. It was an occupation more congenial to 
her taste than the teaching of rough farm-boys, but 
she had a higher motive in view than that of grati¬ 
fying her own feelings. She was extremely grate¬ 
ful to her patrons for the kindness they had shown, 
and until this offer was made she had no thought 
of change, for her very humble views made her con¬ 
tented with any situation in which she found her¬ 
self useful. 

Dr. Harrison, who was much interested in the 
family, had in one of his visits examined Bobcrt s 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


467 


eyes, and gave it as his opinion that an operation 
might be performed and his sight restored. She 
knew that it had been a source of great regret to 
her father that their poverty prevented the under¬ 
taking, but now—and it proved a strong incentive 
—she had a small sum in bank, and in Mrs. Bond’s 
employ her salary would far exceed that she re¬ 
ceived for teaching a country school; and with the 
same self-sacrificing spirit she had always exhibited, 
she determined to exercise the greatest economy and 
lay aside a sum sufficient for the purpose. That 
purpose, however, she kept concealed from every 
one except her mother, from whom she had never 
concealed anything, fearing that false hopes might 
be excited, and the quiet contentment with Which 
her brother bore his great affliction might be dis¬ 
turbed. With great reluctance her patrons released 
her; with great regret she gave up her charge, but 
she felt that a higher duty was before her, a more 
responsible and perhaps toilsome work. But the 
path was opened in the providence of God, and she 
must not refuse it. 

She entered upon her new life with great humil¬ 
ity and earnest prayer, and, thus armed, could she 
fail of the mark she had proposed for herself? 
Mrs. Bond, a pious as well as accomplished woman, 


4G8 


MARGARET GORDON, 


was more than satisfie<l with her. The pupils loved 
and obeyed her. She carried the same missionary 
spirit that had characterized all her former efforts 
whilst in Mrs. Ainslie’s employ into her labours 
there, and, as opportunity afforded, scattered the 
good seed with a liberal hand. Such efforts are 
never altogether unblessed. Many of those girls 
remembered her teaehings in after life, wdien the 
trials and difficulties which all must meet came 
upon them. The good seed, which had long lain 
dormant in the heyday of youth and prosperity, 
then sprung up and yielded the promised increase, 
even to sixty or a hundred fold. 

Thus blessing and being blessed, her days passed 
by in great peace. Perhaps her greatest trouble 
-^vas that of being separated from her family. More 
than one had suggested that Mrs. Gordon should 

remove to C-, where Margaret might be with 

her, but she would not leave her cottage. She 
had quite as good a home as she wished; and as for 
new acquaintances or new friendships, she did not 
care to make them. She had her pastor, the Browns 
and one or two others for friends—friends who had 
comforted and upheld her in the days of adversity, 
and she could not break away from long-cherished 
associations. 



OR CAN I FORGIVE f 


469 


Mr. and Mrs. Ainslie returned to tlieir liomes, 
the latter so greatly improved in health and spirits 
that a eai»eless observer might have believed that 
Louisa’s death had produced but a passing impres¬ 
sion on her mind. A great change had come over 
both, for both had begun to see that in reality 
there is but one thing needfuland having dis¬ 
covered this, the riches and honours and pleasures 
which they had once believed to be the chief good 
had lost their value, for they had learned their in¬ 
sufficiency to secure happiness or defend from the 
stroke .of sorrow. But would these impressions 
last? Would they return to the ^Sveak, beggarly 
elements of the world,” and resume their former 
bondage? We are glad to be able to say that they 
did not. When time, the great healer of all griefs, 
had gradually soothed the first bitterness of theirs, 
they once more became interested by the daily oc¬ 
cupations of life, recognized fully the importance of 
the duties they owed to their surviving children, 
and calmness and even cheerfulness took the place 
of despondence and gloom; so that Mrs. Ainslie’s 
gay friends had little doubt but that she would re¬ 
appear in the gay circle, and, as heretofore, be fore¬ 
most in the round of folly and fashion. They were, 
however, mistaken. The effects of their sorrow 


470 MARGARET GORDON, 

Avcrc not less real because exhibited in action rather 
than in words. They were to be seen in a constant 
observance of family worship, in an increasing at¬ 
tention to the welfare of their children and servants 
—whom Mrs. Ainslie had learned to recognize as 
belonging to the same human family as herself—and 
in giving the money which had been formerly be¬ 
stowed on the purchase of frivolous and unsafisfy- 
ing pleasures, to further the cause of good wherever 
it was needed. Greatly was the change felt by 
every one within the reach of their influence. But 
to Grace it was a blessing beyond all price; for, in¬ 
stead of being spoiled as she had been on account 
of her great beauty, her failings were watched over 
and corrected, her better qualities cherished, and 
the true spirit of life kept constantly before her. 
She grew up into a lovely woman, and, educated 
according to gospel rules, was a blessing to her pa¬ 
rents and beloved by all who knew her. 

Thus was the death of Louisa sanctified, and 
thus it is, by means of sorest affliction, that God 
teaches, showing that this earth is but a land of 
shadows, and leading into a world of reality, where 
the substance of bliss shall be found instead‘of fhe 
image now pursued; where truth is inseparably 
united with pleasure, and where, the mists which 


OR CAN I FORGIVEf 


471 


hang over this preliminary state being dissij^ated, 
the perfect knowledge of good shall lead to the full 
enjoyment of it for ever.’’ 

The change effected by grace—wonderful and 
mysterious—was fully shown when, long after 
Louisa’s death, she heard of Mrs. Bond’s wish to 
engage Margaret—once her servant—as an assist¬ 
ant in a school like hers. She went to that lady 
and voluntarily offered a recommendation which 
was worded in the highest terms. When Margaret 
would have thanked her, she replied: 

^^You do not owe me any thanks; I am rather 
under obligations to you for the silent eloquence 
of your unobtrusive and consistent life whilst you 
were in my family, for it did much to lessen my 
prejudices against professors of religion, most of 
whom I deemed hypocrites; and your patience, 
forbearance, and, above all, the forgiving spirit you 
have shown in reference to the sad affair caused by 
my inconsiderate rashness, has proved to me that 
religion is genuine, and obedience to the rule of 
God’s precepts the one great good.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

CONCLUSION. 

t XD here, dear reader, the tale we have t(dd—• 
if it had been told only with the view of fol- 
^ lowing the affairs of the schoolmaster’s daugh¬ 
ter—might well end. Mrs. Gordon above want, 
happy and comfortably settled; Mary promising and 
dutiful, even if not quite as much so as Margaret; 
and Robert, who had so sufficiently recovered his 
sight that he could follow a trade, and thus was no 
longer a subject of anxiety to his mother, were often 
ready to say, Then am I glad because of Thee, 
because thou hast given me rest and brought me 
to the haven where I would desire to be,” and 
formed another exemplification of the truth of the 
scriptural saying, that ^^those who wait upon the 
Lord shall not want for any good thing.” 

Xor did theyj the poor schoolmaster’s family, 
want for lack of friends. Dr. Harrison, when a 

friend of his, a celebrated oculist, visited C-, 

asked him to examine poor Robert’s eyes. The 

472 


GAN I FORGIVE f 


473 


decision was favourable, the operation successful, 
and the blind boy was able to rejoice in the light 
of day, and take his place as a useful member of 
the human family. 

But, in bidding farewell to the schoolmaster’s 
family, would not our readers like to know some¬ 
thing of the other characters mingled up in the 
incidents of our simple story ? 

Mr. Upton, the devoted pastor, who seemed to 
know how to minister to the hearts, and reach to 
the hidden depths of each, remained among the 
humble people whom .God had committed to his 
charge, labouring faithfully and unremittingly in 
the service of Him who had called him to the 
work. Never holding himself aloof from the homes 
and pursuits of his humble people, he was a speci¬ 
men of what a pastor—one who follows closely in 
the footsteps of the blessed Saviour—ought to be. 
His salary was small; he could not fare sumptu¬ 
ously, but he felt that his cup of blessing was full 
to overflowing. To win souls to Christ by the 
faithful preaching of the Word, and teach them to 
follow him, to trust in him, to rejoice in being a 
partaker of his cross here in the hope of receiving 
the fullness of his joy hereafter, was the dearest 
object of his life; and in the holy effort he found, as 


474 


MARGARET GORDON, 


all who are faithful have done, that the path of 
right was the path of peace. 

The Browns, that sympatlietic, Christian family, 
who had so fully fulfilled the injunction incul¬ 
cated in Holy Writ, Bear ye one another’s bur¬ 
den, and so fulfil the law of love,” prospered in 
the degree deemed best by One who decrees all 
things in consummate wisdom. But if they never 
became as rich as Squire Green, they possessed that 
which was of fiir greater value—namely, ^^content¬ 
ment, which, with godliness, is great gain,” and the 
hope of an ‘inheritance incorruptible and unde¬ 
filed”—an inheritance that fadeth not away, and 
which is reserved for those who walk by God’s ap¬ 
pointed rule and do his will in the way set forth in 
the gospel. But of the family of Squire Green, the 
rich man of that country community, what shall be 
said ? 

It seems a mistake to think that persons who act 
from false principles are necessarily punished in the 
course of this world’s providence. This truth is 
exemplified every day. The Bible tells us it is not 
so, and the difficulties which perplexed the mind 
of Job will still, we may believe, prove an exercise 
of faith to the end of time. Squire Green was an 
emblem of selfish and unjust prosperity; his flocks 


OB CAN I FOBGIVEf 


475 


increased, his possessions extended; he added house 
to house and field to field, and cared not who he 
oppressed in his insatiable desire of acquiring 
wealth. But the increase of riches did not bring 
happiness. His wife died, and when Kitty, who 
had grown up unprincipled and devoted to fashion 
and folly, was at the head of the household, the old 
man exj)erienced a great change. She filled the 
house with company he did not like, pursued a 
course of extravagance altogether opposed to his 
wishes, and, refusing to listen to any remonstrances, 
the consequence was that they were involved in a 
succession of quarrels which destroyed the comfort 
of both. His sons, extravagant and indolent, were 
altogether unpromising, and took no pains to pro¬ 
mote his happiness. Having no kind of domestic 
comfort, he clung more closely than ever to worldly 
matters, and threw his whole heart more and more 
into the acquisition of wealth, although he could not 
be blind to the prospect of his money being wasted 
when, unloving and unloved, he should have finished 
his desolate journey to the land where his riches 
could not follow him. With this sordid spirit came 
haunting fears and envy of others’ happiness. He 
saw the Gordons prospering, and, being so near a 
neighbour,could do much to annoy them; but they 


476 


MARGARET GORDON, 


pitied him for his discomfort and trials at home, 
and instead of suffering themselves to be worried, 
learned to pray for rather than to be angry with 
him. 

Martha Harding remained with Miss Marshall 
many years, and by a faithful, patient and affection¬ 
ate performance of her duties, so fully won the re¬ 
gards of the invalid lady that at her death she left 
her a comfortable legacy, which, added to another 
bequest received by her mother—namely, the cot¬ 
tage where she lived—enabled her to remain at 
home, where, on account of Mrs. Harding’s health, 
her presence was altogether necessary; and so, as one 
has said, as after a stormy morning there often 
comes a season of peace and sunshine and stillness, 
so in many instances do the trials and sorrows of 
early life lead to a happy old age. May it be so to 
all those who have struggled and do struggle often— 
as did these two poor girls whose history we have 
been tracing—with a weary and fainting heart! 
But the reward, though it seems long delayed, comes 
at last. The most helped of Providence is he who 
helps himself, but he who draws back from fear to 
face the stern demands of duty is not worthy to go 
through the ordeal, and is sure to fail; there is no 
Storm so great that a true, courageous and loving 


OR CAN I FORGIVE? 


477 


heart cannot live through, and, it may be, prove 
conqueror at last. There is no one so obscure as to 
be without some influence—that he cannot practice 
the virtues of self-denial, truth and benevolence; 
and such a character, although its possessor is only 
a servant,’’ can spread peace and happiness over a 
household. If a stone is thrown into the water, it 
will be seen how the circling ripples spread wider 
and wider; and so in human life does the influence 
of good conduct extend around, teaching at the 
same time more forcibly by example than by pre¬ 
cept; and it is an influence no human being is too 
humble to exert. Margaret Gordon furnished an 
example not only of what energy and a sense of 
duty can accomplish, but of the influence which 
may be exerted by a good servant in the families 
where they are employed. She carried a missionary 
spirit into Mrs. Ainslie’s nursery and family, and 
did much by her gentle and unobtrusive influence 
of Christian example, thus honouring Him whom 
she professed to serve, and promoting the interests 
of his kingdom. 

Nothing speaks so loudly as the silent eloquence 
of a holy and consistent life, and a great deal of 
good might be done by those whose lot it is to 
serve in families, if they, as professing Christians, 


478 


MARGARET GORDON, 


were more anxious to adorn as well as to jprqfcss 
the doctrines of God their Saviour. 

The situation of a servant was, as we have 
already tried to show, altogether distasteful to her, 
but she dignified her position—as it is in the power 
of every one to do—by taking it from the hand of 
God and using it as tlie means of promoting his 
glory; and proved the value of the religion she 
professed by a constant example of patience, for¬ 
bearance and forgiveness of injury—in short, by 
the practice of those virtues, as enjoined by the 
great Apostle, found in the thirteenth chapter of 2 
Corinthians. She had listened to and profited by 
the scriptural teaching of her pious father, and the 
discipline of her early life had, in accordance with 
those precepts, taught her ‘Go commit her way 
unto the Lord and wait patiently for him.” She 
had done so and found her reward. And there 
are many like her, although their names and works 
have not been recorded; for, while the deeds of 
conquerors are chronicled and the most trivial ac¬ 
tions connected with their lives are thought worthy 
of remembrance, the quiet martyrdom and heroism 
of private life, for the most part remain unno¬ 
ticed. And yet, to fulfil worthily the duties of the 
station which God in his great wisdom has allotted, 


OB CAN I FORGIVE? 


479 


and pursue the domestic relations of life in a spirit 
of justice, love and charity, are in reality the noblest 
destinies to which any one need wish to aspire. It 
is little matter that the world does not register 
such deeds; its fashion passeth away, but the 
record of the just is in heaven, their witness is on 
high, and the promise of reward to such is stead¬ 
fast and sure, ‘^for their salvation is from the 
Lord.’^ Is it not written in the holy Book, 
Commit thy way unto the Lord and trusty in 
him, for he will be thy strength in the time of 
troubleBlessed are the pure in heart; for they 
shall see God f Blessed are the meek; for they 
shall inherit the earth and delight themselves in 
the abundance of peace;” “Blessed are they that 
do his commandments,” for, having walked in 
the appointed way and done all the will of God, 
they may look forward with calm confidence for 
the fulfilment of the promises of Him whose word 
is yea and Amen. 


THE END. 


■ • . . .=• / ■ •■'V * 

•H'-'l**- ^ AL .‘li-i »'* 'iX i M.1**^1 'uJ . ■*•♦>• 

xi: 1»o;. 'j^oi 

iiit-?' ‘'r' i > i i'.i'-,. I i/. ;/ 'iiij V T'-^ ' 

Ay :A i-1'^ -^A '^ 

' -i-'Hi■»•'!' ,!:i^'(^ •> ill ^ ).> f^r^^Tr.. ’ 

. - .■'*•■. 

-l->n '--^ 'f •fuir'l CT* r' :*.‘V iT *t’i •>^^lii^. -lii'. •: 

oiif hi'.r^.'i!,'li^l;-' • •> • i^iis:.. -i:’ 

t>i^>’‘^i, 'fii)i(- Ay- td‘. p’y.iJi.IfT rJy “ 


A A 


v/ullW , vr;' ,’ 

'.rV^C 

/.*'• 


L*r ai’^i •• ‘- 

:, "''.1 j •' I */ “li 

•V'i 

\t 


;iv^ tvi --tv*. • 

•!^ > . St*- . ' . 


V^r- > 


■:t ^>SW4 i*»'‘'i U'ti; 


\ i 


a : 4 ' -.rv.ofcitii i^h^up . Imif ,- 

’ , r 



-• nlJl J.1*. Lf.-v .-I- 

If - '• '■ '■ 

- V.>.;■*•;. 


'..1 

3 ■' ' ^ 

-;.4. .;;<v j.i '\t.\ ^’x • 

'\-;a 

-*? 

V > 

/>•■■• • 

Vf ht , U> X '»<• '*♦•■’ 

dj 1 ' .,j7 M 

v-'iMi; 


t->i. 

: •' -1 ^r.' • ■ r.^y cUi h '' try ■** v --i r' •:»I 

VJf““ . 

/.‘1» ^ 


:..' ,' i'j.'.’,. niillc \^y ^^aaiu'tdA^ 

' , , >■' /V JTjr ; 


■'#! 


.'is.i ri-’r; k 


M 


> 'A‘ 




..^A s 


dih Jlii 



t 






% 

I ' 




< 


¥ 


t * 






I 








rv- : 

a “ * ‘ 






• » 




S' 


r , 

i. 


1 - 


) 


>: ; 




•■'i; VV ■ •• »• 


• I'^ ■>> \ 

:,r • 


.-•r V • 



'r 


s • 


J * 


• 'I • 

y- ' ^ \' t ^ 


• c 


'w \.1 


’!'• •> O 


• r . j 


< 


i * 

I * 


• 


J**’ 


« 

• t • 




' ■ • a'' ’ ■ 

• '• >-*e\ <• / • 


t. 


. . •'., »* 

> - t 


!. 



W ■ 



# r 




. . - -ryi»f V .'S- • • .- 

‘ . -' 


; f 


• 0 


. • 


■.< 


« 

s » 


# 

^ • St'V" 

' ' 




«> 


^ J'V" ; ^ r • V ' s' ^ 

’- '.7 '( ■'■ 


%■: 


■M. 


- < - 


. »•* 




' ‘l < 




; ' 


.J 


.-. " :i5r.7 • -. ■ ’ ^ 4 ^ ' ■ 


'... C 


t • 






4 

U 


> > 






I « 


« -4 


» ' » 
V J. 


• / 


J. ^ -^-. ♦ 
t'^V> \-V'T 


. / 


,} 


•\ 


• 1 
• ^.■- 


•i j: 


>■• ■ 


.» y 


'■ ■■■. ■>> 
i: " 






•V 

* . a ^ 

V,.'^ '* v 









.*• ' ^ - ’ ’ ''. ■' 

.v .*• 




^:f: 




♦ - 


> * 

.V 


* I 


^ \ » 




• 4 


' V 


^'-V 

- •: 




S' J\- •; f» '[' : ., 

^ f- ' f S ' * 

• I.* • Ai S a 


r 


- n 




I 


%/ 


A 




• 


I . 


•* 


• / 



;:^^v ><• /' 

- f:I. ^ ^ 


•. ''<', :Yr 

'■ ^ 


/ 4 


j ' 


• %* 


r 

C V 




r .' ^ 



V 






V 

>*''j 





, ' 

' < 

/ 


* I ' ' -’ 1 ^ 

♦ v'sV *:-:*•.■ 

2 *■--.- 'yn-"r 





iE; 


s' % 


«> 


.'' i- 




Jri 




N '• 







